f r- ii - i -iiria ii M't i 'TrTT ,,J * T - * , ~ - 






Class L^ — . 

Book 

By bequest of 
William Lukens Shoemaker 







THE SHEPHERD OF THE DOWNS. 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR 
VILLAGE 

A BERKSHIRE BOOK BY 
ELEANOR G. HAYDEN 



ILLUSTRATED BY 
L. LESLIE BROOKE 



NEW YORK 
E. P. DUTTON & CO 

WESTMINSTER 
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE fcf CO Ltd 

2 WHITEHALL GARDENS 
1902 



3 ^ 6 "T> 



Butler & Tanner, 

The Selwood Printing Works, 

Frome, and London. 

Gift 

W. L. Shoemaker 

7 S '06 



TO THE MEMORY OF LORD WANTAGE 
WHO SINCE THIS BOOK WAS BEGUN 
HAS PASSED AWAY, AND TO LADY 
WANTAGE IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE 
OF THEIR LONG CONTINUED KINDNESS 

F, G. H. 



/ am indebted to the proprietors oj " The Spectator" " The 

Corn hill Magazine" and "Country Life" for their 

courtesy in allowing me to embody in my 

book various articles of mine 

which have appeared 

in their pages 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



The Shepherd of the Downs 

The King's Highway . 

The Ridgeway and " the Knob " 

Under the Downs 

" A Strutty Little Hen " 

Shadrach Toomer . 

The Bridge . 

May Day Morning 

The First Bud on the Rose Tree 

An Old House .... 

An Orchard Allotment 

Where the Daffodils Grow 

An Upland Hayfield . 

Mrs. Pinmarsh's Fowls go to Roost 

Mrs. Pinmarsh Makes a Pudding 

7 



FAGE 

Frontispiece 



29 

35 
46 

5° 
61 

7i 

76 
80 

99 
104 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



The Return Journey . 

Old Barns and Pig-styes 

The Blue Umbrella 

The Magic of May 

" Parson " 

A Stranger in the Back Pew 

Willum and Jimmy 

Growing Old 

Parson's Meadow . 

The Village in Summer 

Concerning Military Strategy 

The Inn 

A Little Bit of Gossip by the Way 

The Lone House on the Downs . 

An Outlying Farm 

A Forgotten Valley 

The Old Wing of the Manor House 

From the Hamlet up to the Downs 

The Deputy Shepherd . 



PACE 
123 

129 

142 

149 
158 
166 

173 
l8l 
188 
I96 

205 

222 

239 
244 
252 
260 
284 

3°5 
3i3 




The Kings Hichway 



Chapter I 



IT is good in these days of bustle and strife, to 
drift for a while into some quiet backwater — 
such as may yet be found in rural England — which 
the tide of progress stirs but just enough to avert 
stagnation ; where old-world customs and archaic 
forms of speech still linger and where men go about 
their daily tasks in a spirit of serene leisureliness, 
therein copying Nature who never hurries. Of 
such a sequestered corner, its humours, its homely 
comedies and simple pathos would I write. The 
village appears not in Bradshaw — although indeed 
the Great Western line touches its extreme boun- 
dary, so that labourers working in the lower fields 
need no watch, but time their hours by certain trains, 
saying, " Ther' goos Tankey, in five minutes us can 
knock off." Neither is it found within the Postal 

9 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Guide, despite the fact that it now can boast some- 
thing more for the convenience of rustic scribes than 
the hole in a barn into which aforetime they 
dropped their epistolary efforts. It occasionally 
happened that this contained besides the legitimate 
contents, a live crayfish or some other equally in- 
teresting Natural History specimen ; and when this 
was the case, the language wherewith the cheery 
old postman who announced his departure each 
evening by a blast on his horn, expressed his opinion 
of the rising generation, was apt to be more forcible 
than polite. 

Our village lies between two roads of ancient 
fame known on the map as Portway and Ickleton 
Street, but locally as the " Turnpike " and the 
" Ridgeway." These, crossing the Thames at 
Moulsford and Goring, run westward through the 
royal county into Wiltshire, and are separated 
from each other by a tract varying in width from 
one to four miles. The Ridgeway, on the crest 
of the hill, follows the windings of a range of 
low chalk downs and remains what it ever was 
— a broad grassy track seamed with ruts and 
"gullet-holes." Hedged about with the divinity 
which should, but too often does not enclose 
such relics of the past, it is maintained inviolate 
by immemorial right, for it was " the pathway 
of the tribes " across Britain. Along it doubt- 
less marched the legions of the iron race that 
beneath their eagles' pinions carried law, and roads 

TO 






TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

which bid fair to rival time. Along it hastened 
the sturdy Wessex men — fighters then as now — to 
repel the invading Danes, and in these later days it 
has rung hollow to the tramp of infantry, to the 
whirlwind charge of lancer and hussar gathered 
there in bloodless mimicry of war. For the most 




THE RIDGEWAY AND "THE KNOB.' 



part, however, this venerable way is deserted save 
for an occasional shepherd or a solitary farm- 
labourer returning home from work. Silent and 
lonely, it pursues its course over height and into 
hollow : now stretching away in a generous curve 
sharply defined by a bank on either side, now 
scarcely to be distinguished from the surrounding 
turf. At intervals are earthworks that guard it and 

ii 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

barrows that keep watch. Round one of the latter, 
familiarly called the " Knob," not a few curious 
legends have Gathered. Some distance below the 
old road there runs, also from east to west, a military 
ditch and vallum, and the story goes that the devil, 
having a fancy to turn ploughman, cleft this mighty 
furrow along the hillside. When he arrived op- 
posite the spot where the barrow now stands, his 
ploughshare became clogged ; he halted to clean it, 
and the soil which he scraped off he tossed over 
the Ridgeway in a heap to be known henceforth as 
the Knob. There is a lavishness about this pro- 
ceeding which can only be properly appreciated by 
those who have seen the mound and the Devil's 
Dyke. The tale was told to me by a native of the 
district who had heard it when a boy, from the older 
labourers working on his father's farm. Local 
opinion however, differed on the subject. While 
some people believed the Knob was due to His 
Satanic Majesty's industry, others possessing more 
education, maintained it was a genuine tumulus raised 
above the body of Cwichelm, king of the West 
Saxons; and yet a third party claimed that it was 
composed of the bodies of this king's soldiers, slain 
hereabouts in some great battle. So prevalent was 
this last belief that the owner of the land, who was a 
thrifty soul, cut into the mound and drew off several 
hundred loads of soil under the impression that it 
contained valuable fertilising qualities. The infor- 
mant to whom I am indebted for the above tra- 

12 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

ditions, well remembers seeing the farm carts coming 
and going on their foolish errand, and the sensation 
created in the neighbourhood by this wanton 
destruction of the barrow. Its poor remains can 
still be viewed — a monument no longer of a dead 
chieftain or his forgotten host, but of man's credulity 
and ignorance. When I first knew the Knob, it was 
surmounted by an enormous scaffold of fir- poles — 
now fallen into decay — which I fondly believed had 
been erected in honour of the Wessex leader. It 
was really the work of the Ordnance Department, 
having been built for triangulation purposes, and 
the knowledge of this fact, that I learnt later, 
destroyed much of the mystery with which I had 
invested the spot. The idea of buried treasure is 
fascinating to adults and children alike, and though 
I believe nothing of interest was found when the 
mound was opened, the possibility remained that 
Saxon gold lay hidden beneath the turf. 

From the northern slope of the downs, below 
the Ridgeway, the eye ranges over a wide and 
smiling expanse that stretches from where the 
Chiltern heights hem in the valley of the Thames, 
to where the view melts into the distant western 
sky. Here and there familiar landmarks recall 
memories of the past. To the north-east can be 
seen the ancient hill of Sinodun whose base the 
river washes ; across the Vale of the White Horse 
is " the fir-topped Hurst of Cumnor," immortalized 
by Scott, beloved of Matthew Arnold, where the 

13 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

scholar-gipsy wanders still. Further to the west 
Faringdon Knoll, crowned also by a clump of ragged 
wind-tossed firs, rises like an island out of the plain, 
above the little town where Berkshire Alfred laid 
down the sceptre and the sword. To the south, 
above Uffington, the curving rampart of the downs 
culminates, in the great mass of White Horse Hill, 
the site of a remarkably perfect earthwork, and 
the subject of legends innumerable. 

Indeed the whole district I have indicated, is 
connected by countless links with bygone ages. 
There is not an epoch in our history of well nigh 
two thousand years, from the days when British 
kings drove their chariots along the hills, to recent 
times when the same hills grew ruddy in the glare 
of beacon-fires that celebrated the jubilee of a 
British Queen ruling an Empire vast beyond the 
greatest Roman's greatest dream, there is not an 
epoch, I repeat, which has not left its mark on the 
tract commanded by my vision, as I sit on the turfed 
slope overlooking the Vale. And this breadth of 
centuries accords well with the breadth of landscape 
and sky, with the spaciousness and freedom of the 
downs. Cavillers complain that the foreground of 
the view is bare, which cannot be denied ; for except 
along the streams and in and around the villages, 
trees are few and are gathered for the most part 
into scattered spinneys. But in my opinion the 
wide sweeps of arable land, with their constant 
variety of changing crops, possess an attraction 

14 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

infinitely superior to that of meadows and hedge- 
rows which restrict one's prospect of earth and 
heaven to the limits of a field. Hedges stifle me; 
a grass country I find the perfection of dull- 
ness. Even the sky there is not the same as 
that which canopies the down-land — this, by a 
subtle quality of clearness, reminding me con- 
tinually of Italy. 

From the Devil's Dyke the ground drops some- 
what steeply to the foot of the range whence it 
rolls away in lessening billows and ridges, until 
the last outpost of the hills is reached. Along 
the upland which parts the broad Vale from a 
narrower valley runs the Portway or Turnpike 
— the other ancient road mentioned at the beginning 
of the chapter. Unlike its fellow, it is much 
frequented ; what was once the Caesar's is now 
the King's highway and a principal thoroughfare 
between London and the West. The villages 
with few exceptions, lie off its course, nestling in 
hollows nearer the hills ; and their snug farms, 
clustering orchards and sheltered meadows strike 
the traveller who quits the main road to explore 
by-paths, with a pleasant sense of surprise and 
lend additional charm and variety to the scenery. 
Our village touches the highway only to fly from 
it again, as if in an access of shyness. Its 
fifty odd houses, antique thatched cottages some 
modern brick buildings others, that boast every 
up-to-date inconvenience, including a varied assort- 

15 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

inent of draughts, straggle down like a ridiculous 
file of ducks towards the stream which under the 
title of " Town Brook," plays no mean part in the 
life of the community and deserves more particular 
notice. It rises under the downs near a hamlet and 
starts on its course a mile or so above the village. 
Time was when it sang as it gushed from the depths 
where it silently grew into being : when it sped on 
its way a thread of light shot with melody, carolling 
for very joy to find itself in " the sweet light " that 
Dante loved, after its imprisonment below. But 
that was ere man's destroying hand had laid bare 
its springs and widened its narrow bed. To-day it 
wells slowly from the scarped terrace, with earnest 
deliberation, as if conscious that it is no longer an 
irresponsible streamlet, but that it has duties to 
perform, a place to fill in the world so terribly full 
already. 

Poor little brook ! Watercresses smother its 
bright dimples ; formal banks where primroses 
disdain to grow, curb its ripples and guide its erst- 
while wayward course. The water spreads itself 
thinly over the mud flat which responds with an 
evil quiver of its surface, if but a stick be thrust 
into it. The country people tell how, not so many 
years ago, two riders — one a lady — in attempting to 
ford the stream at this point, were almost sucked 
under by its treacherous embrace. " We wur mekin' 
hay in the field up yonder athert the bruk, when we 
yeard a girt hollerin' as corned simly from unner our 

16 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

fit. They two on their 'arses wur a-flounderin' in 
the mud, an' the moor 'urn wriggled, the deeper 'urn 
sinked — you med as well try to stan' on water as 
on that shuckettin' stuff. Aye, an better ; the one 
dwun't drag 'ee down like t'other do. We fot ropes 
and straw an' pulled 'urn out, but lark, they wur just 
about smuddered wi' mud as you could scarce tell 
man from beast ! They wur town-bred folks an' 
couldn't be expected to knaw the ways o' brukses 
an' sich, pooer things." 

Hampered by dykes and cresses, the stream 
pursues its sluggish course until, rebelling at the 
indignities to which it has been subjected, it breaks 
away from the dead level of mere utility, and gather- 
ing its strength for a leap, plunges, a miniature 
cascade, into the wooded fissure that like a green 
ribbon cleaves the open fields. 

In the pool below the fall, securely hidden from 
the gaze of passers-by, I and my brothers and 
sisters used often to paddle on hot summer days, 
there being a sufficient depth of water to give the 
proceeding a touch of excitement that was yet 
unattended by danger. Near the head of the glen 
stood an ancient mill, with overshot wheel that 
hung in its well unhidden by penthouse or roof. 
Thither a former generation of children had come 
to stand spellbound watching the resistless sweep 
of the great floats that brought forth thunder and 
lightning withal from the seething depths below, 
flinging the white spray far and wide and bedewing 

17 b 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

with pearls the mosses and ferns that grew in the 
chinks of the wall. No wains piled high with the 
fat of the land, now roll heavily down the steep lane 
and disgorge swollen sacks to feed the gaping vats. 
The corn laws, the cheap loaf " which came as a 
gift to us poor folks," killed the mill in the valley. 
Its business declined; chains became rusty; doors 
and windows fell out and the roof fell in; the stream 
was diverted by a side cut, and the great oaken 
wheel hung rotting on its pin. It was then that we 
children knew and loved the deserted building and 
with our " make believe," set the machinery in 
motion once more. We crept along the crazy 
wooden shoot, poured ourselves instead of water 
over the floats and clambered at will about the idle 
wheel, the giant making sport for us whom in 
the days of his strength he would have crushed. 
We hauled one another up like sacks of grain 
to the loft and slid down the chains through 
the various stages, to arrive fine white flour at 
the bottom. Happy childhood that can work such 
miracles ! 

The millstones were carried off to adorn the 
garden of a neighbouring cottage which has also 
gone the way of all things. A young couple began 
life there with a modest outfit of a bed and a sauce- 
pan ; and since it is cheaper to steal than to buy, and 
money was needed for more important things than 
fuel — " A man must ha' his glass o' beer," as the 
husband explained, " an' he be none the worse for a 

18 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

jolly good drunk now an' agen' " — the pair set to 
work with axes upon the wood of the mill which — 
shall I confess it ? — supplied the wherewithal for 
boiling our kettle also, when we picnicked, as we 
frequently did, in the glen. 

It would not have mattered much if the destroyers 
had confined their attentions to the disused building ; 
but when this supply was exhausted, they attacked 
their own dwelling. 

" 'Tis sa comfer'ble an' handy-like " they said, 
" not to ha' to step outside for firin'," and straight- 
way up would come a bit of the stairs or a part of 
the bedroom floor, until the ascent of the former 
was fraught with peril, the circuit of the latter a 
journey strewn with pitfalls. 

I was once sent to carry the woman some com- 
forts on the occasion of a domestic event, and I 
remember wondering what would happen if the 
week-old infant by some unlucky chance fell out of 
bed. Would it remain in the bedroom or would it 
descend, as despite my wary walk I half feared I 
should do, through one of the numerous holes in 
the floor to the kitchen below ? The cottage 
becoming at length untenable by reason of this strip- 
ping process, the inhabitants removed themselves 
and their household gods — now somewhat increased 
in bulk — to another abode, declaring with righteous 
indignation, that ,( they 'udn't bide no longer in 
sich a wore-out ole place, as lan'lerd did ought to 
be ashummed to ax rent fur. But ther, he'd niver 

19 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

sa much as stuck his head inside the dooer all these 
'ears — what did he knaw about 'un ? Why nothen', 
a-coorse!" A circumstance which, everything 
considered, ought to have been a matter of con- 
oratulation to the tenants. The only traces of mill 
and cottage still remaining, are two mounds of bricks 
overgrown with grass and brambles, that in no whit 
detract from the beauty of the glen through which 
the brook, rejoicing to be rid of its trammels, dances 
for a mile or so. Here it rushes over pebbles with 
much small busy fuss and fret at the obstacles that 
for an instant check its flow ; there it curls smoothly 
round a bend, heaping a sandy marge beneath the 
further bank. It coquets with the trees that come 
down to drink, gliding from them to return in a 
long loop again and lave their roots with tiny waves. 
It murmurs unknown things to the silver birches 
and tremulous aspens that stoop to its bright 
glancings and whisper soft answers back. It calls 
to the birds in the white fastnesses of the wild 
cherry and the swaying tops of the elms, till they 
join their notes to its song. 

Where the banks rise steep and crumbling and 
clothed with tangled thickets, many wild creatures 
find a home — the weasel, the stoat, the badger and 
the fox. Many ring-snakes too are found, that 
" never run away because they know they are harm- 
less"; and now and then an adder that will never 
stay to face mankind, because " it knows it is guilty" 
— thus the country folks on natural history. In the 

20 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

brook's still pools lurk mountain trout waiting to be 
tickled ; over its shining surface hang " the wander- 
ing nation of a summer's day." High above the 
water is a grassy path, the favourite haunt of rustic 
lovers. When Chloe triumphant, is seen with her 
bashful swain "a-walkin round the bruk of a Sunday 
arternoon," every one is aware that sooner or later 
the young couple will be " called " in church. A 




UNDER THE DOWNS. 



wedding follows, and the glen beholds them no 
more ; but other wooers come : the stream of life 
flows on side by side with the stream of death. 
Each year the brook sees those mounds of stillness 
in the churchyard growing thicker and as it steals 
by, its careless gaiety is changed to sober quietude. 
Deeper, fuller, it runs, hurrying onward to find the 
river that will bear it to the sea. 

It flows now through green meadows where 
willows keep pensive watch; past orchards in which 

21 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

spring's warm breath renews the snows of winter, 
until it reaches the confines of the village and is 
elevated to the dignity of " Town Brook." 

In olden times a second mill stood here and 
though its every vestige has long since disappeared, 
the memory still survives in the name by which the 
cluster of cottages on the bank is known. " The 
Millway" is an offshoot from the main village 
street and was the abode of a little colony of aged 
folk before death and household " stuffings" re- 
moved them elsewhere. There dwelt a " widow- 
man " who " did for himself," a " widow-woman," 
and two married couples. Every day the ancient 
dames — bent, crippled with rheumatism, and what 
they called "the triatic" — would creep down through 
their gardens where bees were busy among the 
gillyflowers, to the stone step against which the 
water was gently lapping. Buckets would be 
dipped, lifted with infinite difficulty, half-filled, to 
land and carried home, a labour necessitating several 
halts on the way, although the distance was not 
great. 

Sarah Toomer who with her husband, lived in 
the cottage nearest the stream, made a practice ot 
feeding the trout during the summer months, for 
which she was liberally rewarded by the farmer 
whose visitors from London reaped the benefit of 
her forethought when they rented the fishing on 
the opposite bank. 

The Toomers' neighbour was not without a 

22 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

certain claim to distinction : she felt that she 
possessed an almost proprietary right in the brook, 
being intimately connected with water. 

"My son, 'ee knaw," she would explain with par- 
donable pride, "a lives up at Barrow : 'tis a ter'ble 
girt way off, an' folks sez as you've got to crass the 
water to get to't. I cassn't say myself, fur I've 
niver bin ther' ; but that's as 'tis. My son drives 
an engine ; not one o' them as runs on rails 
an' screeches fit to mammer arrabody. His'n be 
what you calls a drudge — summat as clanes out 
the sea, luk 'ee. I reckon that 'ull be a longish 
job, so ther' ben't much fear o' him bein' short 
o' work yet awhiles. Dear, dear, who'd ha' 
thought as iver the sea could ha' bin claned out ? 
but ther's no tellin' what folks wun't be up to 
nowadays ! " 

This old lady was chained to her fireside by the 
complaint so common among working women — 
namely, " a bad leg " and that of the most virulent 
type. If it were poor Hannah's cross, it was at the 
same time her pride and glory. Nothing afforded 
her greater pleasure than to exhibit to a luckless 
visitor the ghastly spectacle of her " pooer dear 
'ounded limb," and she derived a singular satisfac- 
tion from the thought that " it 'ud be despert hard 
to find a wusser leg nor mine." It would indeed 
have been difficult to have imagined such an one. 
Notwithstanding the constant pain she suffered, she 
was ever cheerful and when I visited her, would 

23 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

tell me much of the good old times when her father 
earned five shillings a week and her mother made 
"tea" from burnt crusts, so that a blackened loaf 
was a welcome sight. 

In those days the neighbouring little market-town 
was full of French prisoners of war and Hannah 
would describe how, when she was a child, working 
with her parents in the harvest-field that skirted the 
Turnpike, she used to see these unfortunates walk- 
ing along- the road as far as a certain milestone. 
" An' when they got to he, they alius had to turn 
back, 'cause that wur as fur as they wur allowed 
to go. They simmed quiet sort o' people by what 
I could year : about the same as we to look at, 
though 'urn did come from t'other country, acrass 
the water. But folks is folks all the world over — 
much of a muchness, I reckon, -when you gets 
inside 'urn, so to spake." 

Of the French as soldiers, she had but a poor 
opinion and in support thereof would quote her 
uncle who had served under the Duke of Wel- 
lington. 

" I sez to 'un one day, 4 Well, uncle,' I sez, ' what 
do 'ee think o' them French as you had to fight ? 
was you afeard on 'urn any ? ' ' Afeard ! ' sez he, 
scornful-like, ' why, us thought no moor on a 
Frenchee nor if he'd bin nought but a cabbage ! ' 
Think o' that," old Hannah would add in awe- 
struck tone. 

The great event of her later years was the flood 

24 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

which afforded an inexhaustible topic of conver- 
sation, though it only affected her to the extent of 
compelling her to take refuge upstairs. With the 
Toomers it became a more serious affair, as I will 
proceed to show. 



25 



Chapter II 

THE Duck House was a little low mud-built 
cottage, some two hundred years old, consist- 
ing of a kitchen, a bedroom raised one step above 
the former and a tiny cupboard dignified by the style 
and title of " pant'ny." The hut owed its name to 
its proximity to the brook, and to the fact that 
during a more than usually rainy season it was 
apt to be flooded. On these occasions the water 
would come lappering over the stones of the court, 
and without so much as " by your leave " would 
make its way into the kitchen, where it rioted at 
will, to the exceeding inconvenience of the legiti- 
mate inmates. 

These unseemly intrusions however, were few 
and far between. In the sweet spring-time, when 
the door commanded a vista of the snowy orchards 
already alluded to, of nodding daffodils, and pink 
willow buds bursting into green, the cottage 
was a not undesirable residence ; while in summer 
when the sun beat remorselessly on the white 
road outside, and flowers in unshaded gardens 

26 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

drooped on their stems and faded for thirst, the 
Duck House, where the rustle of trees mingled with 
the ripple of slipping water, was a very paradise of 
dim coolness. 

Old Shadrach and Sarah, whose home it had been 
for the last forty years, were of opinion that no 
cottage in the village could compare with it. 
Beneath its thatched roof they had begun married 
life ; and sons had been born to them there, who 
were stalwart men now and had long since made 
for themselves new homes across the sea. In the 
squatter's hut, to which the old people clung with 
the affection conceived of association, they aspired 
to end their days — a modest ambition, the sole 
survivor of those with which they had set out on 
life's journey together. The hope ot recent years 
was the acquisition of the Duck House. To this 
end they had scraped and toiled, denying them- 
selves all save the barest necessaries, working 
early and late to add a shilling here, a sixpence 
there, until at length the requisite sum was almost 
complete. 

When things went awry, and the master's temper 
was more than usually "'ock'erd"; when Shadrach's 
rheumatism was troublesome, or Sarah felt " that 
low an' queer " ; when in short the aged couple 
were sensible of the need of a mental stimulant, the 
door would be locked, the blind closely drawn, and 
the stocking brought forth from its hiding place. 
Its contents would be poured into Sarah's lap, and 

27 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the two would count up their hoard — nearly ten 
pounds in solid money. Half-crowns, shillings, 
sixpences, threepenny-bits, piles of pennies — each 
one meaning - a pipe foregone on Shadrach's part — 
coins of every description were represented, from 
the lowly farthing to the rare sovereign gleaming 
among baser metal. 

" Lawk-a-mussy-me ! " exclaimed the old man one 
evening, as he sat watching his wife's fingers lose 
themselves in the mass, " I dwunno, Sally, howsum- 
diver I shall bring myself to part wi' 't : 'twull be like 
tearin' the heart out o' my body. Dear, dear, wot 
a pity as a thing cassn't be boughten wi'out bein' 
paid fur ! " 

" That's as true a word as iver you said in your 
life. I shall miss the brass sore, an' 'twull be ter'ble 
unked when there be nothen to screw an' scruple 
fur. We've got but two days moor to look at he an' 
count 'un ovver, now that he o'ny wants eighteen- 
pence of the ten pound. If you gi'es ma that 
a- Friday when you tek's your wages, it can all be 
paid to Muster Huggins a-Saturday, which 'till save 
we this wik's rent, seein' as how he couldn't ha' the 
meanness to ax we fur that, when we ha' just paid 
'un sich a comenjous lot down ! " 

" Aye, aye," returned the other, adding regretfully, 
"Ton my sowl I'd as lief get rid o' the 'en as the 
money ; I 'udn't miss she sa much." 

" But /should; an' I'd let 'ee knaw that 'tis my 
'en, an' not to be got rid on, or guv' away fur brass. 

28 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

She be a livin' cratur', an' this year be o'ny filthy 
lucre, as parson sez ; though why a calls it ' filthy ' I 
dwunno, 'cause most on it be clane anuff. But that's 
neether year nor ther'. My 'en, wot lays sa reg'lar 
ben't a-gwine to be " 




"a strutty little hen." 

" Ther' be no call fur 'ee to snap my yead off; 
narra one wasn't thinkin' o' interferin' wi' she." 

"No, they'd best not," was Sarah's significant 
reply, which her husband received in respectful 
silence. 

29 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

The subject of this dispute had been presented as 
a chicken to the old woman. It had now developed 
into " a strutty little hen," and repaid its mistress's 
care by a conscientious discharge of its duty in the 
matter of eggs. Sarah's affection for her solitary 
chick gave the neighbours at first much food for 
merriment. 

"It med be a chile by the way she trates 'un — 
talks to 'un she do, by the hour togither, fur all the 
worruld a-sif 'twur a Chrish'n." 

" Tell ee what," remarked the old woman, happen- 
ing by chance to overhear the above observations, 
"she be a deal better Chrish'n nor many what calls 
theirselves sich. You niver years she a-janglin' and 
a-jarlin', sneerin' at other folkses like some as I 
could name. She bides a-twhum an' does her dooty 
in that state o' life in which it ha' pleased God to 
call she, as the catanchissm sez. You niver sees 
she a-gossipin' at the earner, an' lettin' out the fire 
as did ought to be cookin' her 'usban's dinner ! " 
which last Parthian shaft struck home and effectually 
silenced fault-finders. 

On the morning of the fateful day — for such 
indeed it proved to be — that was to see the coping- 
stone placed on the labour of years, Shadrach went 
forth to work as usual. He was employed in " bird- 
starving" on a strip of land some distance from the 
village and contiguous to the highway. It was a 
dull chilly occupation, this walking round a field to 
occasionally fire a rusty gun at invisible rooks, and 

30 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

it must be confessed that he devoted a dispropor- 
tionate amount of attention to that part of his beat 
which bordered on the road, where there was a 
possibility of exchanging the " time o' day " with 
passing travellers. He was a simple-minded, soci- 
able individual, and was quite ready for the sake of 
a chat, to offer a share of his frugal lunch to a tramp 
who accosted him, as he sat on the bank skirting the 
Turnpike. 

" Have 'ee got a copper fur a chap as ha'n't tasted 
a mossel o' food to-day gaffer ? " 

Shadrach replied in all sincerity that he had not 
"a brass farden' " about him. 

" I might ha' knowed that by the look on you," 
said the tramp, and he also took a seat on the bank. 
" How fur's the nearest public, an' wot kind o' 
lan'lerd kips it — one as 'ud give a drink to a poor 
feller who's dyin' o' thirst ? " 

" Ah, that be wusser nor hunger," remarked the 
old man sympathetically. " I'd ha' gin' 'ee a penny 
an' welcome, but my ole ooman kips ma rayther 
shart " 

" Gar-on," was the tramp's impolite rejoinder. 
" I've heard that tale afore." 

" D'ee think I'd tell 'ee a lie ? As sure as I sets 
year I gi'es she ivery penny I yarns, an what's left 
ovver from rent an' fire an vittles, she puts in the 
stockin' under the mattress." 

" You've got a stockin' wi' mebbe a couple o' 
pounds in't ?" 

3i 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" Couple ! We've ten pound, shart by eighteen- 
pence which as how I manes to put in to-night from 
my wages. That be God's truth ! " 

The other whistled and turned away his head to 
hide the greedy light in his eyes. " Wi' all that 
sight o' money you wun't sper' a ha'p'ny to a chap 
as ha'n't tasted a mossel o' food these two days — 
'tis 'ard, crool 'ard ! " 

Shadrach's heart melted within him. " Year, tek' 
my nunchin'," he said ; " or if thee've a mindt to 
goo into yon village, I meks no doubt but what my 
missus 'ull gi'e 'ee a drap o' tay an' a crust o' bread." 

" I'd walk twice as fur to get summat to eat. 
What's your name, an' whereabouts do you live ? " 

" We lives in the Duck House close alongside the 
water ; arra-one 'ull tell 'ee wher' to find 'un " 

" Thank 'ee gaffer, thank 'ee kindly ; may God 
blesh you ! " and the tramp swung oft towards the 
village at an astonishing pace considering his state 
of starvation. 

It is a trite saying that virtue is its own reward ; 
but unless virtue be tempered with discretion, the 
reward is sometimes difficult of discernment and is 
apt to wear upon occasion a rather dubious aspect. 
Shadrach experienced, no doubt, a fine glow of 
benevolence towards the man he had helped ; this 
feeling however, had spent itself before the day was 
done, and was succeeded by other sensations of a 
different and more lasting character. 

When the old fellow returned from work that 

32 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

evening, his wife informed him that she had " bin 
a'most frowtened to death by a girt travellin' man 
as come an' axed fur food : said some 'un had telled 
'un that the lady wot lived in the Duck House niver 
turned arra-one from her door wi'out a mossel o' 
bread. Wher a got that lie I dwunno, but I wur 
fust to gi'e 'un summat, 'cause he med ha' took all as 
he fancied, an' wi' them ten pound lyin' betwixt the 
mattress and the bed-boord, I 'udn't ha' aggreevated 
'un not fur wotiver." 

An idea flashed into Shadrach's mind — an idea so 
horrible that for a moment his head swam, and he 
clutched at the table to save himself from falline. 

" A didn't steal nothen', I s'pwose ? " he asked in 
a voice he scarce recognized as his own. 

Happily Sarah failed to observe his emotion, 
being engaged in preparing supper. 

" No, a went off as quiet as a lamb, bless 'ee. He 
found the 'en right away up the road, an' come back 
to tell ma on't — you can think as I cut an' run arter 
she when I yeard that. 'Twur a comacal thing she 
should ha' strayed sa fur ; I niver knawed she do 't 
afoor." 

Shadrach breathed again. " Now then, missus," 
he said when the meal was ended and his pipe well 
alight, " fetch out the brass, an' we 'ull gi'e 'una last 
count ovver — year be the eighteenpence." 

Sarah disappeared for a few seconds into the 
bedroom, to return with a vast knitted stocking tied 
round the top by a piece of string. 

33 c 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" Sims wunnerful heavy," she remarked. 

" An' I dwun't sim to year the chinkle-chankle," 
added her husband. 

It was opened, and the contents were poured into 
her lap, but as they came to light a cry of wrath 
and anguish broke from the pair. 

" The money ! Wher' be the money ? Oh, Lor' 
if it be stole ! " 

They turned the stocking inside out ; they rushed 
to the bed and searched it from end to end, shaking 
the pillows and blankets and pounding the mattress 
in vain. They turned the house topsy-turvy, leaving 
no cranny unexplored, but the hard truth was not 
to be shirked, that the savings of years were gone 
and that a number of pebbles had been substituted 
in their place. 

" 'Tis that tramp as stealed it," moaned Sarah, 
rocking herself backwards and forwards; "to think 
that a drap o' tea an' a crust o' bread should ha' 
cost ma sa dear ! oh my, oh my ! " 

Shadrach said nothing, but he thought a great 
deal. 

" I kin see't plain anuff now," continued the old 
woman; "the 'en was peckin' about in the court 
when he come to the door ; he just picked she up 
an' card she away, a-purpose to bamboodgel ma up 
the road." 

" Did you goo off an' leave 'un year ? " inquired 
her husband. 

" I thought he wur comin' along behindt ma — no, 

34 




SHADRACH TOOMER. 

35 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

I wun't tell 'ee a lie. I just niver thought o' nothen 
'cept the 'en. D'reckly my back was turned he 
must ha' slipped in an' teken the money." 

" I wunners if Hannah sin 'un pass her window," 
mused Shadrach. 

" Lard love 'ee, he 'udn't be that soft : he'd creep 
round the side o' the house an' acrass the fields— I 
reemembers now, thinkin' 'twur comacal I didn't 
meet 'un as I come back." 

" No doubt but what that be how he done't," 
acquiesced the other, who seemed too crushed to 
make any moan. 

" What I'd like to find out is this : how did a 
knaw as the brass wur ther' ? I ha'n't breathed it to 
a livin' sowl. Ha' you, Shadrach Toomer ? " 

The suddenness of the question deprived him for 
a moment of speech : when, after a pause, he found 
his voice, he affirmed in accents of the deepest 
solemnity that never had the word money passed 
his lips. 

Perhaps he did protest too much; perhaps his 
uneasy conscience betrayed itself in look or bearing. 
Certain it is that his wife glanced suspiciously at 
him once or twice before she deigned to accept his 
denial. He spoke no more that evening. Fetching 
his large Bible from its place on the bureau, he read 
diligently a certain chapter near the beginning of 
the Acts of the Apostles, and sighed at frequent 
intervals. The following day he was heard to 
remark that " that ther' 'en had best be keerful she 

37 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

dwun't happen to find herself unner my fit," and that 
he would "fetch the perlice to the very next tramp 
as comes along baggin'." With the exception of 
these two observations, he maintained a melancholy 
silence on the subject of the theft, but the neigh- 
bours, who were not in the secret, noticed that 
he " broke a smart deal " that autumn ; and they 
wondered what had occurred to change him, that 
he, who only last summer was " 'sa peart, now 
hockled about like any old Methusalum." 

Evening after evening the aged pair sat one each 
side of the fire, Sarah expatiating on their trouble, 
for the poor old soul missed the money with an 
aching sense of loss, Shadrach endeavouring by a 
sedulous study of the Bible, to close his ears to her 
complaints. For a while she bore with this in- 
attention. One night however, her patience gave 
way. 

It was November, and the domestic atmosphere 
within was scarcely less gloomy than that without. 
Rain had been falling since dawn and at noon 
Shadrach had come home wet to the skin, com- 
plaining of rheumatic pains in "the spine of his 
back." 

When, after supper, he fixed his glasses on his 
nose and opened the Book as usual, Sarah's irrita- 
tion could no longer be subdued. 

" Lark, what a lively un you are to live wi', to be 
sure! Set ther', 'ee 'ull, an' groan fit to bust your 
weskit, but niver a word do 'ee spake, bad nor good. 

38 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Rade summat out o' the Bible, cassn't 'ee ? It 
wun't do we no harm, an' 'ull help to pass the time 
along." 

He obeyed, choosing as his subject the history of 
the Flood, to which the dreary splash of the rain on 
the casement and the rush of the swollen stream 
added a touch of realism. 

"'Tis a wunner as Noah wurn't druv' silly wi' 
all they beastes," he said as he closed the Book. 
" I found a dozen cows anuff when I wur fogger, 
but two o' ivery mortial kind — lions an' tigers 
an' bears. Well, I dwunno how fower men got 
through the work o' feedin' on 'urn once a day, let 
alone cleaning out their places an' beddin' 'um 
down." 

" I wishes as the Lard could ha' sin His way to 
drowndin' a few o' they naesty creepin' things : we 
'udn't ha' missed them stingy waspes, an' we could 
ha' done wi'out blackbeetles, an' a few moor o' the 
same sort. Lor', what a time Noah an' his fam'bly 
must ha' had, wi' all them swarmin', as you med say, 
in his house ! 'Twur better nor bein' drownded, an' 
that's the best praise you can gie't." 

" I reckon us 'ull knaw summat about a flood 
presen'ly, if the bruk kips on a-risin'," said 
Shadrach. 

The loss of the money was for the moment for- 
gotten in this fresh anxiety. His first thought next 
morning was of the stream ; as soon as he was 
dressed he dragged himself with difficulty to the 

39 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

door — his rheumatism being now acute — and peered 
through the grey dawn at the rushing yellow torrent 
a few yards from him. 

" Still risin', an' the rain comin' down fit to cut 
a haystack a-two," he murmured. 

The morning dragged slowly away. When Sarah 
had finished her household tasks, she sat fondly 
watching her hen as with gentle cluck-clucks, it 
pecked up the crumbs about the kitchen. Ere long 
the old woman's head drooped, and following her 
husband's example, she sank into a doze. They both 
were awakened by a loud cackle, indicating extra- 
ordinary agitation on the part of their pet. " What 
a fuss about a hegg," said the mistress drowsily, 
and was composing herself for a second nap when 
Shadrach perceived the real cause of the com- 
motion. 

" Look alive missus ! the water's runnin' unner 
the sill an' her nest be soppin' wet ; she must lay 
her hegg by the fire." 

Sarah seized a broom, and opening the door, 
tried to brush out the intrusive element thereby 
making matters worse, for now that the barrier 
was removed, the water rushed in like a miniature 
torrent. " What be we to do ? " she cried in 
despair, "as fasts as I hucks 'un out, he runs in 
agen ! " 

" Us must shut to the dooer an' bide till 'un 
sinks," was his reply. 

This, however, the water did not appear to have 

40 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the least intention of doing. Gradually the pool 
in the middle of the floor spread until it reached 
the fire which, after a brief struggle, it vanquished 
amid spluttering and hissing. 

" An' narra tater cooked fur dinner ! " sobbed the 
old woman as she and her husband retreated to the 
upper end of the kitchen. Their stay here was 
brief; again they were forced to retire, and they 
finally took up their position on the bed, from which 
they could hear the relentless foe surging round their 
household goods, washing against the " sofy " of 
which Sarah was so proud, straining at the dresser 
adorned with the best tea-set and the pictures of the 
two absent sons, curling about the Windsor chairs 
that shone until you could almost see your face in 
them. 

Presently there came a blast of cold air, and 
Shadrach, looking from the inner room, saw that 
the weight of water had burst open the outer door, 
and that the flood in the kitchen was rising by leaps 
and bounds. Many thoughts were working in his 
mind as he sat through the afternoon, which was 
long and yet cruelly short, till evening stole down 
while the stream creeping over the step mounted 
ever higher and higher. 

" Missus," began Shadrach when the last ray of 
light had faded, and they crouched side by side in 
the chill darkness, " I cassn't get out o' this, along o' 
my pooer back ; but ther yen't no call fur you to be 
drownded. It dwun't sim a-sif arra-one be comin' 

4i 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

. to help we, so you had best try an' scamble through 
the water afoor 'tis too late." 

" Wher' you bides, I bides: we've lived ovver 
farty 'ear tergither, an' I ben't a-gwine to lave 'ee 
now. I've bin errible wi' 'ee lately, Shade, but 'twur 
along o' that money, an' I axes your pardon, seein' 
as how you took it sa uncommon sweet." 

Shadrach's hand sought hers : " Sally, ole ooman, 
promise as you'll furgimma fur what I be gwine to 
tell 'ee, an' that you wun't niver cast it up agin ma, 
if sa be as we gits through this year." 

The pledge was given, and he proceeded to relate 
his encounter with the tramp : how, in the fullness 
of his pride, he had boasted of his wealth, even to 
describing where it was hidden ; and had lied to his 
wife, allowing her to take upon herself the sole 
blame. 

Sarah remained long silent. When she spoke it 
was to say — " Pooer Shade, you meant no harm ; 
but I be glad it wurn't the 'en arter all. Do 'ee 
knaw wher' she be ? " 

" No, I ha'n't sin she sence we come in year : I 
yeard a kind of a squawk a while back, an' itsimmed 
a-sif she flod some'ers, o'ny I couldn't tell 'ee wher'." 

Again silence, broken this time by Shadrach : 
" Missis, you be a good ooman — I niver knawed 
how good till now — but I'd feel moor comfer'ble- 
like in my mindt, if you'd upset ma a bit ovver 
that tramp job. It dwun't sim nat'ral fur 'ee to tek 
it sa quiet." 

42 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" Not now, Shade ; I couldn't upset 'ee now, 
when mebbe afoor many minutes is passed, we two 
'ull be drowndin' like rats in a hole. Money dwun't 
sim o' much account when you looks at it wi' death 
stan'in' at your elber. Oh, to think as we should 
be cast away " — she broke into a wail — " cast away 
to die in our strength, wi' our senses about us, to 
die alive, as you med say, on the bed wher' the li'le 
'uns wur barned ! " 

" I didn't think we should ha' bin furgot by ivery- 
body," responded Shadrach plaintively. 

The words had not left his lips, before a sickly 
yellow gleam shone on the water ; a man's voice 
cried : " Hello ! wher' be ? " and a few seconds later 
a young labourer, lantern in hand, splashed his way 
to the bedside. 

" Ben't much too soon, simly," was his laconic 
remark, as he held the light above his head and 
surveyed the scene : " us had to see to the pigs and 
the fowls (lots of 'um be drownded), or we should 
ha' bin year afoor. Now then, which on you be 
comin' fust ? " 

The two old people were carried through the 
house and up the court to the lane, where a farm 
cart was in readiness to convey them to a neigh- 
bour's house on higher ground. For down here in 
the hollow, there was water everywhere ; the road 
was invisible, and the course of the stream was 
apparent only by the willows which just managed 
to hold their disconsolate heads above the waste. 

43 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Sarah's distress was acute at leaving without her 
hen, and the following morning she repaired betimes 
to the Duck- House. The flood had fallen consider- 
ably during the night, but there was still more water in 
the kitchen than was agreeable. And what a scene 
of desolation the whole of the interior presented ! 
The floor and the furniture were "smuddered" in 
mud, as she plaintively said ; the " sofy " was a 
sponge ; the best table-cloth a dripping rag ; worst 
of all, the children's "picturs" were ruinated — "it 
was anuff to gin arra-one a turn as 'ud last 'un the 
rest o' your life." At one sight, however, Sarah's 
heart leaped up, her troubles grew small : on the 
mantel-board, serene and placid, sat the hen, and 
when with a welcoming cry she alighted on her 
mistress's shoulder, a shining white egg was re- 
vealed to view upon the shelf. 

During the next few days the owner of the Duck- 
House declared his intention of pulling the old place 
down, it being no longer fit for habitation. What 
caused him to change his mind people never rightly 
knew : the fact remained, that when the water had 
subsided, the old folks returned to their nest, and 
lived there in great peace and comfort until their 
death some years later. The gossips exhausted 
themselves in surmises as to how the means for this 
state of things were supplied, and having turned 
Shadrach's and Sarah's affairs inside out, they came 
to the conclusion (which happened to be the correct 
one) that the two sons in Australia had sent their 

44 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

parents a considerable sum of money. The investi- 
gators were helped to this explanation by the know- 
ledge — elicited through diligent enquiry at the post- 
office — that a day or two after " the girt flood, a 
queerish-lookin' letter from furrin parts " had been 
delivered at Sarah's door. It was further whispered 
that Shade had " bouorhten the cottaee ter'ble 
cheeup," for he was heard more than once to remark 
that " what you thinks a misfartin' yen't alius one ; 
an' though the flood ruinated a smart deal o' the 
furnitoor an' mildee'd the mattress, it sp'iled the ole 
'ouse fur arra-one 'cept we ; an' it larned ma what 
a good missus I'd got." Which last observation, 
unmarried men said, was plainly absurd, because if 
he had not had time during forty years to discover 
what Sarah was, it was certain that sitting together 
an hour or two on a soppy bedstead would not 
teach him. The married men however, maintained 
a discreet silence : they knew that not even after 
forty years of wedded life would anyone, save a 
fool, presume to assert that he had fathomed the 
mysteries of one female mind. 



45 




THE BRIDGE. 



Chapter III 

BELOW the Millway the brook expands into a 
shallow pond, which is the village watering 
place. Swallows wheel and swoop over it during 
the daytime, kingfishers come for breakfast in the 
first hours before the world is astir, and nightingales 
sing divinely amid the scented darkness when every 
one is fast asleep save those who own the hearing 
ear. Here mild-eyed cows are led to drink, and 
horses that have been known to twitch the halter 
from youthful hands and stampede among the chil- 
dren, scattering them like a flock of doves. 

Close by is the bridge, which, at the time of 
the flood, fulfilled its duties so inadequately, that 
the water rose above the narrow arches, poured 

46 






TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

over the parapet and formed a lake of respectable 
dimensions. In fact, people passed the remark that 
there was no knowing where the brook would not 
have arrived — at the church on the one side and 
the Turnpike on the other without doubt, if both 
roads had not happened to be so difficult of ascent 
that its headlong career received a check, and it 
was obliged perforce to retreat by the way it came. 
Which circumstance, folks, who lived on the two 
hills, said was " a merciful providence," though even 
these favoured individuals began to get nervous 
at the incessant rain, and shaking their heads 
muttered — " It did say in Bible as ther' 'udn't niver 
be another flood, but that wur a long whiled agoo 

an' " they evidently harboured a fear lest the 

promise might have " lapsed." 

The children returning from school who had to 
be ferried across the bridge — strange irony ! — 
thought the whole thing very amusing. It did 
not however, strike the men living on the Millway 
in this light, when, after having waded through 
water waist-high to reach their front door, they 
found that the fire had gone out which should have 
cooked the dinner, and that the wife with the 
smaller children had fled from the swamp below 
to the upper rooms, whence hungry appeals were 
transmitted through the windows to the outside 
world. 

It must not be supposed that the brook is in the 
habit of overflowing thus, or that it often places 

47 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the bridge in the ridiculous and humiliating situ- 
ation of complete submersion. Once only, within 
the memory of man, has it played this trick, which 
it performed in order, doubtless, that the structure 
should not be unduly exalted. Having demon- 
strated its ability to " be even " with the latter, 
the stream has been since content to flow in its 
appointed channel. 

During recent years the roadway over the arches 
has been widened and a footpath added ; the 
bridge in consequence has become a safer haunt 
for the children who before, ran no small risk of 
being crushed against the parapet, if caught in the 
narrow strait by a loaded farm wagon. May 
Day morning sees them meet here while yet the 
dew lies fresh upon the grass, and breaking into 
small parties, they parade the village, with gar- 
lands of cowslips, bluebells, and gillyflowers, or 
a doll enshrined amid a bower of greenery and 
blossoms. 

As early as seven o'clock they may be heard 
outside the houses, carolling with fresh young voices 
the primitive ditty below, the words of which were 
given to me by a singer — 

" Good morning, young ladies and gentlemen : 
I wish you happy May. 
I am come to show our garland, 
Because 'tis first of May, 
Happy May ! 
Joyful May ! 
Winter's gone and passed away. 
48 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Hail, all hail the merry month of May ! 
We'll hasten to the woods away, 
Among the flowers so sweet and gay, 

Away to hail, 

Away to hail, 
To hail the merry month of May ! " 

Their maying over, the children cheerfully return, 
at the sound of the school bell, to the prosaic round 
of every-day life, the pennies they have collected 
burning holes in their pockets until dinner-time 
brings an opportunity for spending. On the bridge 
the little girls dance when wandering minstrels come 
our way and proclaim — in accents that recall the 
Emerald Isle — their readiness to play for the sum 
of one penny, "any chune the ladies" may desire 
— waltz, polka, schottische, or redowa. Such an 
invitation is not to be resisted. The requisite 
amount is subscribed! Babies, almost as big in some 
cases as their nurses, are placed on the ground 
along with the basket of bread which the baker's 
youthful daughter is carrying, and the linen basket 
under the charge of the washerwoman's equally 
immature offspring, and the children, choosing 
partners, twirl round and round in couples, their 
coloured pinafores flying in the breeze, a look of 
sweet gravity, of intense though subdued enjoy- 
ment, on their chubby faces. 

Over the parapet of the bridge hang the younger 
boys and angle for stray fish with a bent pin and 
a length of twine. Their perseverance is crowned, 
as a rule, with small success, for trout that may be 

49 d 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

caught by tickling, eschew the blandishments of a 
worm that does not pretend to conceal the hook 
upon which it writhes. The greatest piscatorial 
achievement was the capture of a veteran crayfish 



&&J£*$&* 







MAY DAY MORNING. 



that had long defied the children. Let them 
describe the exploit in their own graceful and 
suggestive language. 

" Ther' usted to be two on 'urn, a li'le crawfish 

50 






TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

an' a girt 'un as bid in a hole anighst the bridge. 
We tried a smart few times to catch 'urn, but 'urn 
wur too cunnin' an' 'udn't quilt the worm. One 
on us tried to scroop 'un up in his hat, but they 
'udn't be scrope, so we fot a close-prop an' hucked 
out the girt 'un— the li'le 'un he flod away under 
the arch, wher' us ha'n't sin 'un sence." 

This was a year or so ago, but I have no doubt 
the children are still endeavouring to secure that 
nimble crustacean, if they have not already done so. 

A party of East-End boys, who were spending 
their holidays in the village, once dared to profane 
Town Brook by bathing in the two-foot depth of 
water near the bridge — to bathe, not merely to 
paddle, which is allowable. They were impelled to 
the rash deed by a faint reminiscence of a solitary 
visit to the seaside, so they subsequently confessed. 
It happened that a matron of some consequence in 
the place, and of the approved British type, saw 
them thus disporting themselves, to the indignant 
horror of the rustic population, and finding remon- 
strance vain, she despatched a messenger in hot 
haste for the policeman. At sight of the familiar 
blue uniform the urchins, who possessed the true 
Londoner's reverence for the majesty of the law, 
" flod away," like the little crayfish under the arch, 
leaving their clothes piled in the road. One boy, 
with admirable presence of mind, snatched up his 
hat before he vanished, and a quaint sight he pre- 
sented as he dived, thus lightly clad, beneath the 

5i 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

bridge. The affair resolved itself into a duel ol 
patience between the two parties, in which the lads, 
I am happy to say, were ultimately victorious, their 
draughty shelter notwithstanding. 

At the parting of the main street from the Millway 
is "the " Idle Corner" that every village possesses, 
where a knot of women with and without babies in 
their arms are to be seen at any hour of the day, 
where marbles are played against a convenient 
wall, where men and youths congregate when work 
is done, to talk to the girls and to indulge in horse- 
play among themselves. 

Near "Idle Corner" meetings religious and 
political are held. The former attract the more 
numerous audience ; not only do they offer a par- 
ticularly easy, informal method of discharging cer- 
tain religious duties, but the drums and tambourines 
of the Salvation Army add a pleasing military 
flavour to the proceedings — a mild excitement 
tinctured with mirth that is wanting in the unaccom- 
panied eloquence of the candidate for parliamentary 
honours. 

The most impassioned appeal to the electors, the 
most convincing argument, fails to elicit a spark of 
sympathetic interest in their placid, bovine counte- 
nances. The orator brings his speech to a close 
amid profound silence, and shakes off the dust of 
the village under the depressing conviction that his 
words have spent themselves on the empty air. It 
is more than probable, however, that when polling 

52 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

day comes, the voters, despite their unpromising 
attitude, will rally in a body to his support. " Ah, 
bless 'ee, that chap can just about spout," they 
remark, when discussing the matter ; " 'twur a purty 
spake as he gin we 'tother day : sims a-sif he knawed 
all about what us wants, an' if sa be as we has to 
send a chap to Parleement, us med as well send one 
who can spake up fur we." 

The motives which influence these sons of the 
soil in the exercise of their political privileges are 
exceedingly simple. 

" All on us works fur he, luk 'ee, an' seein' he 
gies we our bread as you med say, 'tis o'ny fair us 
should gin he ourvoteses." Or again : " Them blue 
'uns — Conservatives they calls theirselves — they 
done torrable well by we ; gin we free schooldin' 
fur the childern, and County Councils, an' sich-like. 
'Tothers ha'n't gin much as I can mek out, 'cept 'tis 
the voteses, an' they be that cheeup nowadays, they 
ben't o' no vally wotiver ! " 

The patriarchs of the village regretfully recall the 
days when the possession of the franchise marked a 
man out as in some subtle manner superior to his 
fellows : at election times the fortunate individual 
was a person of importance to be flattered and 
cajoled by the agents of the respective candidates ; 
on the fateful day itself it was seldom that he went 
unrefreshed. " But lor' bless 'ee, 'tis all changed 
now : a man's vote dwun't bring 'un in sa much as 
a glass o' beer : ten't worth the trouble o' puttin' 

53 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

your mark if you ben't to get a bit o' beef an' a drap 
o' summat warm an' comfer'ble." 

The whole subject of law-making and laws is 
wrapped in impenetrable mystery ; the people 
have a vague notion that the latter are evolved 
somehow through the agency of " they Parleement 
chaps — lawyers I s'pwose 'urn calls theirselves as 
they meks laws," but of the process they are pro- 
foundly ignorant. The Government is credited 
with powers little short of miraculous ; it has but to 
speak the word and prices will rise or fall, old-age 
pensions become an established fact, work be pro- 
vided for every man. It was of course owing to 
the supineness of this omnipotent but sluggish 
machine that the price of bread went up to such a 
scandalous height during the Hispano- American 
war. 

" A purty Government we've got ! " quoth one 
irate matron ; " a purty Government, to let bread be 
sa dear ! wotiver it be about I'd like to knaw, 
mekin' we pay sevenpence a loaf when we sows 'un 
an' reaps 'un an' gathers 'un. Ther's plenty o' earn 
round year fur we, an' ther' did ought to be a law 
agin tekin' it away to the towns. The folks ther' 
should look arter theirselves, and not steal our 
food as we be fust to work sa hard to get. No 
earn ought to be selled out o' the place wrier' a 
grows." 

It might be supposed that among a peasantry so 
simple and so selfish the old election cry of " Three 

54 



i 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

acres and a cow " would have met with approval. 
This, however, was not the case. 

" Who could live on three acres, 'spec'ly if they 
happened to be a-top of the downs wher' nothen 
wun't grow?" And "wher' 'ud you get beastes 
anuff fur iveryboddy to ha' one ? " " Who 'ud pay 
we our wages, if sa be as all the land wur tuk away 
from the farmers ? We couldn't live wi'out our bit o' 
money, ee knaw." These were some of the ques- 
tions with which the labourers proved the political 
Solomon who dangled the scheme before their eyes. 

" 'Tis a comacal notia'," they said, when discus- 
sing the matter among themselves, " a wunnerful 
comacal notia' yennit ? But 'twudn't do fur we. 
He needn't come axin' we fur our voteses, if that's 
what he be gwine to be arter, when a gets into 
Parleement." 

Probably this warning was conveyed to the can- 
didate ; certain it is that no further mention was 
heard in the village of " Three acres and a cow." 

Since those times elections of one kind or another 
have become so usual under the Local Government 
Act, that they are nothing accounted of nowadays. 
Thus far have they fallen from their former high 
estate. 

The first Parish Council entirely eclipsed its 
Parliamentary rival in importance and excitement ; 
the new toy was to be the Government on a smaller 
scale — omnipotent, but within a restricted area. 
The village would be lighted with street-lamps ; 

55 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

allotments would be without limit, and the rent a 
mere song ; good paths would be made everywhere ; 
every one would become prosperous and happy, 
and all at the ratepayers' expense, the last being 
naturally the crowning beauty of the scheme in 
the eyes of those not included under that category. 
The village was placarded with bills, " Vote for 
So-and-so," and a prodigious amount of talk, both 
public and private, ensued. 

The election was hotly contested, the Moderates 
securing a victory chiefly through the indiscreet zeal 
of one Progressive candidate. This misguided 
individual held out as a bribe to the voters the 
promise of a village bath, which proposal evoked 
a storm of ridicule and abuse. 

" Baeth, indeed ! Wher's he gwine to mek his 
baeth, then? In Town Bruk ? An' I'd like to 
knaw how we be to water the 'arses and wash the 
caerts, if sa be as the water be all taken fur a baeth. 
Do he think as we be that dirty then, as we reequires 
a baeth ? Us 'ull baeth him, an' purty quick too ! " 

One old dame tremulously inquired whether 
" folks 'ud be forced to go in the water whether 
'urn liked it or no ; fur I've never had a baeth all 
my life long, an' if I takes one now, I'm mortial 
afeared it med be the death of ma." She was 
assured with malice prepense, by an opposer of 
the scheme, that undoubtedly every one would be 
compelled to make use of the promised boon, and 
that a parish councillor would be in attendance to 

56 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

enforce immersion. I may add that a village bath 
has not figured again on an election programme. 
Indeed, notwithstanding its vigorous birth, the 
Council is gradually dwindling down to a quantity 
nigligeable, except as regards the management of 
allotments. Even of these the people are tiring, 
and they are being thrown back to a large extent on 
the committee's hands. 

As the Parish Council has declined, its big brother 
of the county has risen in favour, though at first it 
was looked at askance. One enfranchised widow 
who supported herself and a young family by field 
labour at tenpence a day, stoutly declared that she 
was " not a-gwine to walk a mile to the vote, not to 
oblige noboddy. She would go if she wur tuk in a 
carriage," an' " tuk " she was, vastly enjoying the 
novel sensation of riding behind a pair of fine 
horses. 

There was little excitement at the poll, for the 
people did not understand the significance of the 
new machine, and were doubtful as to the benefits 
it would confer. Its cooking and nursing lectures 
have not in truth been appreciated as they deserve, 
and its lessons on practical butter-making have 
produced small result, the wives and daughters of 
the small farmers preferring in most cases to cling 
to their antiquated methods. The continuation 
schools which it aids, are generally well attended ; 
but for the steam-roller, which it first propelled on its 
ponderous way among the villages, is reserved the 

57 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

highest praise. That is a definite and very tangible 
proof of the County Council's powers. 

The central authority is well enough, and does its 
best for the poor according to its lights. The 
Workmen's Compensation Act is " some good on to 
they as has accidenks ; but 'tis wunnerful few we 
gets year luk'ee, follerin' the plough-tail or leadin' 
the teams." The Vaccination Conscience Clause ? 
" I dwun't say nothen agin he fur they as has 
consciences ; I ha' n't got aim myself. My childern's 
all bin done, same as they've all bin chris'ened an 
confirmated ; it never gave 'um no hurt as I could 
see, an' ther' dwun't sim no call to change wi' this 
last babby." The efforts of a thoughtful majority are 
thus lightly dismissed ; not so, however, the County 
Council's steam-roller. It excited a chorus of ad- 
miration long and loud. " To think as we should 
have that girt thing in this poor little place ; it 
do sound cheerful-like to year he a-puffin' up- an' 
down-strit. An' dwun't he mek the roads bea-u-ti- 
ful ? Sa quick, too ! 'Tis a sight better'n them 
stwuns a-kickin' about all through the winter. No 
moor shuckettin' fur we in carriers' caerts. Well, 
well, times be wunnerful changed sence I wur 
young, an' I can tell 'ee this, that they ben't no 
wusser now'n what 'um was then. Ther' sims to be 
alius summat a-fresh." Yes, even under our little 
bridge new water runs. 



58 



Chapter IV 

I HAVE already said that certain modern erec- 
tions of brick deface the village. Its pictur- 
esque thatched cottages are fast disappearing. 
Some are dropping into decay because landlords 
refuse to spend money in repairing the ancient 
tenements, others are being pulled down bodily 
to make way for the aforesaid latter-day abomina- 
tions, that with their slate roofs which the sun 
smites remorselessly during summer, and their 
walls through which the wind seems to blow, are 
as unsatisfactory to inhabit as to look at. 

There is no need, however, to describe these 
products of civilization : they may be seen by the 
hundred in the artisan quarter of our larger cities 
— each house its neighbour's twin, flush with the 
street and devoid of anything beyond bare utility. 
Those in the country possess this advantage over 
their urban brethren, that to the former are attached 
gardens — generally of a fair size — which redeem 
them from the meanness and squalor characteristic 
of the latter. 

Much may be done with climbing plants, and the 

59 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

red building strikes a not unpleasant note of warm 
colour amid the landscape, when time and creepers 
have mellowed its crude tint. Bare walls are 
odious to the average rustic ; should nothing else 
be available wherewith to cover them, he will dig 
in a neighbouring thicket a puny root of wild 
honeysuckle which, planted beside his cottage door, 
speedily becomes " a girt, buzzlin' thing," under its 
changed conditions of life. 

Ivy for this purpose is not popular, owing to its 
supposed propensity to harbour " erriwigs and other 
naesty craewlin' insectes " ; but vines, clematis Jack- 
mani, Virginia creeper and roses of the cheaper 
kind, such as the white and crimson rambler, are 
much sought after. Choicer varieties, like the Gloire 
de Dijon or Marechal Niel, are for the fortunate 
few who can afford luxuries. 

The greater part of the garden is devoted to 
vegetables ; the flower border is usually under the 
care of the wife who not infrequently is compelled 
to fight a tough battle for the preservation of her 
rights, the little strip of ground being a kind of 
Naboth's vineyard, which the head of the family 
would fain annex. 

" My 'usban' 'ud like to pull up all my plants," 
said a house mother when we were discussing- the 
subject. " Oh, he 'ud soon have 'um out by the 
roots, an' his carrots an' taters in their place, if I 
didn't kip a sharp eye on him. ' What good be 
your flowers?' sez he. ''Us cassn't eat they.' I 

60 




THE FIRST BUD ON THE ROSE TREE. 



61 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

tells 'un they be good to look at : that our eyes did 
ought to be used as well as our mouths, an' that we 
didn't ought to be alius thinkin' o' eatin'." 

This woman was an enthusiast. She went on to 
declare with evident sincerity, that she could gaze at 
her flowers the livelong day if she had not work 
to do. 

" They be sa wunnerful, an' ther' is sa much in 
urn when you comes to study 'urn. As for hurtin' 
or breakin' a flower, well there, I couldn't do it ; 
'twud sim downright cruel ! " 

There is a genuine though often dumb and in- 
articulate love of nature among our people, which is 
perhaps more evident in the women than in the 
men. I was showing a village mother some photo- 
graphs of Alpine scenery when the exclamation 
broke from her: "Oh, how I should love to see 
them beautiful mountains ! It do sim hard, as I 
shan't never have the chance." 

This love of nature finds expression in the care 
the cottagers bestow on their flowers. Each plant 
in the little area is individually known and tended 
and I heard one woman give utterance to a really 
remarkable sentiment. 

" Some folks worship gold/' said she ; " / worships 
flowers. If arra-one wants to please me, they 
needn't give me money, fur I'd a deal sooner have a 
flower if 'tis o'ny a little 'un." 

In truth plants or cuttings are highly appreciated. 
The wife of a small farmer showed me not long ago 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

a fine fuchsia hanging from a basket in the window 
of the " back room " where she had been compelled 
to hide its beauties. At one time it dwelt in the 
publicity of the kitchen, but so many neighbours 
had begged for slips, that it bade fair to be given 
away altogether. Its career had been somewhat 
eventful, for when in its full vigour, the proud 
parent of no fewer than forty-six blossoms, an 
intrusive heifer that was roaming the green outside, 
put her head through the window, and ate the 
plant to the root. It recovered from this untoward 
accident however, and lived to supply half the 
village with small fuchsias. I may add that the 
heifer so relished the dainty, she desired others, 
and in search thereof, marched through the house 
to the garden beyond, where she browsed upon 
cauliflowers and dahlias until she was discovered 
and driven ignominiously forth. 

I am sorry to have to record that many old and 
formerly favourite flowers have vanished from 
village gardens of to-day. The vicissitudes of 
fashion in floriculture remind me of those primitive 
weather-gauges which in my childhood used to adorn 
every cottage interior. They were made of grey 
crusted cardboard, and shaped to represent a Gothic 
porch, from which emerged when the sun shone, a 
female figure in bonnet and shawl ; the gentleman 
with old-world chivalry that would, I fear, be little 
appreciated in these days of athletic women, reserving 
the bad weather for his own walks abroad. Thus 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

when annuals were " in " at the Hall, they were 
" out " in the village, and cottagers grew such 
flowers as Sweet- William, London-pride, Aaron's- 
rod, and the like. Now that all self-respecting 
upper-class gardens boast a herbaceous border, their 
humble friends flaunt in the gay colours of begonias, 
nasturtiums, China-asters and stocks. Lilac, sweet 
lavender which is never out of date, gillyflowers 
and tall white Madonna lilies still shed their 
fragrance through the village ; though these are 
but lightly esteemed compared with annuals and 
tubers. 

It is wonderful how many varieties an ingenious 
gardener will contrive to cram without undue crowd- 
ing, into one small plot. I counted in a patch of 
ground less than four yards square, no fewer than 
twenty-eight different kinds of plants, the majority 
being annuals which the penny packets of seed with 
their bright wrappers, have done so much to popu- 
larize. Among the few " old-fashioned " blossoms 
I noticed monkshood, called by rustics dove flower, 
because " when the cap is pulled back, you can see 
Noah's dove as brought un the leaf" — an amusing 
variant of the name Venus's-chariot-drawn-by-doves, 
by which we children knew it. 

Southernwood was there, which " with brandy," 
as my informant added significantly, is the gipsies' 
chief medicine. And because the good wife feared 
the limited space below would check the free de- 
velopment of her two begonias, she raised them on 

65 E 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

roughly carved blocks of wood, where they flowered 
to their hearts' content. The whole was surrounded 
by a neat elder fence, which a mouse could have 
jumped, and was a source of great pride to the 
owner. 

The poor are not niggardly with their blossoms. 
For such festivals as a harvest-thanksgiving, a 
wedding, or still more, a funeral, they will raid their 
beds with ungrudging hand. The only exception 
to this rule that I can recall, was in the case 
of an old man who by some means or other into 
which it were well, perhaps, not to inquire, had 
become possessed of a number of fine dahlia tubers 
that in due season made a blaze of colour round his 
tumbledown dwelling. Though he owed his few 
comforts entirely to the kindness of friends, he would 
not part with a single blossom to church or bene- 
factor save for a " consideration." 

Fashions may change and the flowers we love 
disappear from the village ; but those in the fields 
remain ever the same, returning year by year to 
Qreet us with their sweet familiar faces. We cannot 
boast in our cold chalk soil the luxuriance of more 
southern counties. The few hedges we show, do not 
veil themselves behind a wealth of ferns, foxglove 
and honeysuckle, yet in their way they are beauti- 
ful ; when the hawthorn is in bloom they lie like 
scattered snowdrifts against the green earth, and 
beneath June's sky they blush with the delicate 
pink of the wild rose. Such modest flowers as the 

66 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

starry celandine abound, and the blue geranium or 
Meadow Cranesbill, the leaves of which in autumn 
are so richly tinted. The white geranium is 
found, though this is rarer than the other ; nor 
are there wanting cowslips that, mixed with ordinary 
tea, impart to it a pleasant springlike fragrance, and 
moon-daisies, the pure petals of which love-lorn 
maidens strip from the golden centre one by one, 
to learn the quality of their swains' regard. In the 
woods flourish orchises and bluebells. I have seen 
the ground carpeted with the latter, so that as you 
looked away down the vista between the nut bushes, 
you scarce knew which were bluer — the blue distance 
beneath the spreading mantle of fresh green, or that 
far above, overhead. " Pale primroses that die 
unmarried," ere yet the sun in his full strength may 
kiss them, and " violets dim, but sweeter than the 
lids of Juno's eyes," repeat their beauties in the 
mirror of the brook whither, as soon as the first 
buds unclose, the children come a-primrosing on 
Sunday afternoons. Woe to the poor blossoms at 
such times ; they are torn from their roots and left 
too often to fade on the path. If borne in triumph 
to some cottage home, they arrive there all drooping 
from contact with hot little hands, whose owner's 
idea of preserving her treasures is to " car' 'urn 
squeedged very tight, so's I shan't drop 'urn." 

Our dazzling merciless high-roads which scorn 
to seek the shade that humbler lanes affect, are 
not without a touch of beauty : bright blue chicory, 

67 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

yellow bedstraw and purple knapweed brave the 
dust and glare to gladden passing travellers. It 
is, however, in the cornfields that the flowers of 
the chalk soil are seen in their full glory. Pop- 
pies that tinge the wheat blood-red as though it 
were flushed by the setting sun, delicate convol- 
vulus, corn-flowers that reflect the sky, corn-mari- 
golds each one a miniature sun in itself, corn-cockles 
in their robe of royal purple, rest-harrow — sugges- 
tive name — that blossoms at the edges of the field 
where the harrow stays perforce — these and others 
too numerous to mention, Nature shakes with lavish 
profusion from her overflowing lap. 

The downs possess a flora of their own : many 
tiny blossoms nestle in the turf or spring in the 
shallow soil where this is turned by the plough. 
The small wild pansy and eyebright, wild thyme 
— bee haunted, milkwort blue and pink, lady's 
slipper, harebells whose faint music only fairies 
hear, scarlet pimpernel — the poor man's weather- 
glass, that closes up when rain is near, and a 
species of forget-me-not so modest and minute 
it scarcely can be seen, are some of the usual 
— I cannot call them common — flowers with which 
the slopes are decked. Others more rare are 
viper's bugloss — found in deserted chalk- pits, and 
the pasque-flower — a purple anemone which blooms, 
as its name implies, about Easter-time. In a narrow 
valley just below the hills the white moth-mullein 
( Verbascum blattaria) has been found ; also wild 

68 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

larkspur, growing among corn ; though it is doubtful 
whether the former survived a visit to the spot of 
some school children enjoying their annual picnic. 
When village orchards are white with blossom, the 
crab-apple showers its pink and snowy petals in the 
lanes, and later, its golden fruit which lies un- 
gathered on the ground ; and traveller's joy that 
when age overtakes it is appropriately known as 
old-man's-beard, drapes the bushes and hangs in 
long festoons from the trees. 

But I must stay my pen, for I could ramble on 
ad infinitum about wild flowers that are so much 
more lovable in their hardy independence and 
spontaneous unaided beauty than the pampered 
nurslings of the garden which Nature sometimes 
has difficulty in recognizing as her children. 

The following- are a few wild fruit and flower 
recipes which are used in the village. 

Dandelion Wine. — To make 9 gallons of wine. — 
Boil 27 quarts of pips in 9 gallons of water for an 
hour. Strain and boil again with 13^ lb. of best 
Demerara sugar, 1 oz. of hops, \ lb. of brown 
ginger, and sufficient orange and lemon peel to 
taste. Slice 18 Seville oranges and 12 lemons, and 
put to them 13^ lb. of sugar as above. Pour over 
them the boiling liquid : when blood-warm add a 
little brewer's yeast. Strain again before putting 
into the barrel. The wine should be allowed to 
work three or four days before being bunged tight. 
Bottle in six months. 

69 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

I am assured on authority far higher than my 
own that the above is really excellent, as well as 
very wholesome, and that it resembles a sharp 
liqueur. When the dandelions are in blossom the 
children go forth in little crowds to gather them ; 
and as the pips or heads are small and many are 
required, housewives willingly reward industrious 
pickers. Later in the year they strip the elder 
bushes for their purple fruit, from which also a 
good home-made wine is brewed. It is a specific 
against colds, and when heated and spiced is a 
pleasant winter nightcap. One farmer of my ac- 
quaintance has it made every season, to administer 
doses thereof to any of his men whom he thinks 
may require it, the patients infinitely preferring 
"maister's medicine" to the doctor's "stuff." 

Elder Wine. — To every gallon of water a peck 
of berries. To every gallon of juice 3 lb. of sugar, 
\ oz. of ground ginger, 6 cloves and 1 lb. of raisins. 
A quarter of a pint of brandy to every gallon of 
wine and 3 or 4 tablespoonfuls of brewer's yeast to 
every 9 gallons of wine. 

Pour boiling water on the berries and let them 
stand covered for twenty-four hours. Then strain 
the whole through a bag or sieve, breaking the 
berries to extract the juice. Measure the liquid 
and to every gallon allow the above proportion of 
sugar. Boil the juice with the sugar and the other 
ingredients (ginger, cloves and raisins) for one hour, 
skimming the whole time. Let it stand until luke- 

70 




71 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

warm, then pour it into a clean, dry cask with the 
proportion of yeast as above. Let it ferment for a 
fortnight ; add the brandy, bung up the cask and 
let the wine remain thus six months before bottling. 

During autumn the blackthorn, which in early 
spring powders the hedgerows with its flowers, dis- 
plays a profusion of small round berries and these, 
though harsh and bitter alone, are capable in com- 
pany of good results, if employed with discretion. 
They impart a fine flavour to the otherwise insipid 
blackberry, while upon the merits of sloe gin it were 
superfluous to dilate. I append two recipes for the 
latter, both of which are used in the village. 

Sloe Gin. — One gallon of raw gin, half a gallon of 
sloes, 2 oz. of bitter almonds, and 2 lb. of white 
sugar. Pour the gin on the other ingredients and 
shake up every day for six weeks. Strain and bottle. 

Another recipe says — To every gallon of sloes 
add the same quantity of good gin and 1 lb. of white 
sugar — or more or less, according as the liqueur is 
desired sweet or not. Crush the fruit in a jar ; take 
out and crack the stones, replacing them in the jar ; 
add the sugar and pour over it the gin. Cork or 
cover the jar tightly and stand for a month, when 
strain and bottle. 

The following is an improvement upon the or- 
dinary blackberry jelly. 

To every 4 lb. of blackberries add \\ of sloes. 
Bruise the fruit, cracking the sloe-stones. Boil all 
for a quarter of an hour and strain the juice. To 

73 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

every pint add i lb. of preserving sugar. Boil fast 
with this until the liquid jellies. 

It may not be generally known that marmalade 
can be made from rose-berries by the following 
method. 

Hip Marmalade. — To every pound of hips allow 
half a pint of water : boil until the fruit is tender, 
then pass the pulp through a sieve, which will keep 
back the seeds. To each pound of pulp add i lb. 
of preserving sugar and boil until it jellies. 

Mountain-Ash Jelly. — The berries must be 
gathered when quite ripe and untouched by frost. 
Strip them from their stems, place in a pan and 
cover with water. Let them soak two days, then 
put them into a preserving pan with as much of the 
water in which they have soaked as you think 
desirable, according to the quantity of jelly required. 
Boil and skim until the fruit is soft. Strain the 
liquid through a sieve, crushing the berries with a 
jampot that the pulp but not the seeds may pass. 
To a pint of liquid add i lb. of preserving sugar 
and boil fast for nearly an hour, or until it jellies, 
skimming constantly. Pour into pots and next day 
cover down. 

This is not a dessert dish, but a delicious substi- 
tute for currant jelly, to be eaten with venison, hare 
or roast mutton. The flavour is somewhat sharp, 
unlike the insipidity of the other, to which it is as a 
rule preferred when it has been once tasted. 



74 






Chapter V 

WHEN parson 'gins the Bible, 'tis time to 
sow the beans " — thus runs the ancient 
proverb. The first chapter of Genesis is read, as 
every one is aware, on Septuagesima Sunday — when 
the first faint whisper of spring breathes throughout 
the land — since at that season God creates the 
earth and the heavens each year anew. Length- 
ening evenings see village fathers, employers and 
employed, busy in garden or allotment, planting, 
sowing, dibbling. A paternal Government has not 
yet brought in a Bill for the protection of mankind 
against wild birds. It is to be hoped that the 
measure will not be long delayed ; otherwise, in 
this part of the world at least, the poor gardener 
will run some danger of extinction. As it is, his 
labour too often profits only his feathered foes. 
Rooks dig up and devour his seed potatoes ; jays 
(jar-pies the natives call them in reference to their 
harsh note and their pied plumage) feed on his 
peas and beans ; bullfinches strip the fruit trees of 
their buds, and if perchance a few escape and reach 
maturity in the shape of apple, plum or pear, these 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

do but provide dessert for blackbirds and thrushes. 
Even the cuckoo is not exempt from such luxurious 




AN ORCHARD ALLOTMENT. 



tastes. One of these birds took up its residence 
last summer in a garden I know, pitching its tent 
beneath the gooseberry bushes. There it remained, 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

regaling- itself upon the fruit and flying out with a 
shriek if any one approached the spot, until the 
food supply was exhausted, when it migrated to 
another less forward clump of bushes and repeated 
the process. 

If there be nothing else they fancy, the gluttons 
will attack a certain small stonecrop which makes a 
pretty edging to some flower-beds in the same 
garden. I have counted on a summer afternoon 
when the sun has left that part of the lawn, as many 
as twenty thieves engaged in their nefarious occupa- 
tion of tearing off and carrying away pieces of the 
unlucky plant. 

Such conduct is apt to chill one's enthusiasm tor 
birds, except when they are pouring forth a flood of 
melody : then all misdemeanours are forgotten. 
Unhappily they do not sing the whole year through, 
and, like boys, they are sure to be in mischief when 
they are quiet ! 

Besides the vegetables already mentioned, our 
people grow a few roots and a vast amount of 
" greens," but their staple crop consists of potatoes. 
It is a pretty sight during autumn to see a father 
digging the winter store, while his children in blue, 
red and pink cotton pinafores, that lend welcome 
touches of colour to the dun landscape, swarm round 
him, sorting, picking and cleaning the tubers before 
depositing them in the wheelbarrow. When this is 
full, the inevitable infant is placed on the top of the 
pile and trundled home in triumph by "our daddy." 

77 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

The people have little to learn in the way of 
plain practical gardening, sufficient for their modest 
requirements. The County Council, actuated by 
the most praiseworthy motives, sent down a lecturer 
to deliver a series of addresses on the subject, but 
this attention, like others, was coldly received. 
" What do a think as he be gwine to larn we then ? " 
said the rustics. " Ha'n't us bin doin' our bits o' 
gardens purty nigh all our lives ? I reckon 'tis we 
as could larn he summat, moor like.'' Possibly the 
lecturer also held that opinion, for after deliver- 
ing two of his courses to a room where a couple 
of listeners broke the monotonous emptiness, he 
departed in search of more promising pastures. 

One of the village gardens I fain would describe 
in greater detail, since to it the epithet "old- 
fashioned," which in this connection is a term of 
praise, may with some justice be applied. It be- 
longs to the Red House which gained its title in 
its youth. A century of wear and weather has 
toned the bricks until they look almost colourless 
by contrast with the rich crimson flowers of the 
pyrus japonica that is trained beneath the lower 
windows. The upper portion of the walls is 
covered by a vine, among the yellowing leaves of 
which hang, during autumn, tight bunches of small 
purple grapes that supply the wherewithal for grape 
wine. At one side of the narrow railed-in space 
separating the front door from the street, stands an 
old pear tree, loaded every season with fruit which, 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

owing to its " iron " quality, escapes the hands of 
boy-marauders. The little plot itself reflects all the 
tints of the rainbow save in the depth of winter. The 
first buds to pierce the brown earth and brighten its 
dull surface, are such tender blossoms as the snow- 
drop, hepatica and winter aconite. To these 
succeed crocuses, hyacinths, tulips, the scale of 
colour mounting ever higher as the season advances, 
until it culminates in a blaze of scarlet, blue and 
yellow that to be fully appreciated should flame 
against grey venerable walls, or light up the dark 
sweep of some cedar-studded lawn. 

It was not however, on this conventional strip, 
with its begonias and lobelias, that I wished to 
linger, but on the square garden behind the house. 
It slopes to the brook near the bridge and is shut 
in on two sides by high mud walls half hidden 
beneath masses of ivy. Along the stream — 
bordered just there by willows — is a broad band 
of turf flanked by nut bushes that shelter each a 
rustic seat, and sparkling in spring with clumps of 
daffodils, " tossing their heads in sprightly dance." 

I often wonder why these flowers thrill not poet 
and painter alone, but plain individuals like myself, 
with such a keen and intimate delight. Is the magic 
to be found in their colour — the very essence of sun- 
shine — or in their suggestion of spring fragrance, 
for scent they hardly can be said to possess ? In 
truth their charm is too subtle to bear analyzing and 
consists, I think, as much in the impressions they 

79 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

convey to the inward eye as in aught tangible. To 
me they bring visions of a thousand things : of 




rHERE THE DAFFODILS GROW, 



bright though broken sunlight ; of a windy sky 
across whose April blue race fleecy clouds like 
white horses across the sea ; of skipping lambs and 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

young green corn ; of bowing tree-tops whose buds 
are beginning to show purple ; of the first feathery 
shoots of the larches and the earliest primrose — 
things of life and hope — all. The daffodils in the 
Red-house garden can be seen by everyone passing 
on the bridge ; and when the sun is shining through 
their golden petals and burnishing the surface of the 
water, when it is brightening the pink willow-buds 
and revealing unsuspected tints in the mossy trunks 
of the apple trees beyond the brook, that little 
strip of grass is a joy, the remembrance ol which 
abides throughout the year, until the changing 
months make it once again something more than a 
memory. 

From poetry to prose is too often but a step ; 
beyond the daffodil green lies the vegetable garden 
where things useful if prosaic flourish. Here cherries 
in due season ripen, and currants red, white and 
black may be gathered by the bushel ; raspberries 
with their reckless ostentation, tempt fruit-lovers 
from the path of rectitude, and plums crave only to 
be picked. But though, as is but fitting, utility pre- 
vails over ornament, the latter is not wholly wanting. 
The cabbages and onions hide modestly behind a 
screen of dahlias ; sweet-peas " on tiptoe for a 
flight," mask their humble culinary cousins, while 
tall hollyhocks, and sunflowers that bumble-bees 
love, by their presence at the edge of the turnip- 
bed seem to lend that indistinguished vegetable 
some of their own stateliness. The garden is 

81 F 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

intersected at right angles by straight grass paths : 
one of these leads from the house door that com- 
mands a vista of the orchard framed between two 
quaint clipped yews, down to the stream. This 
was spanned by a single plank when old Thomas 
Dench, familiarly called Tommy, lived at the Red 
House. He was a well-known character in the 
village, and though he quitted it some years ago, 
he is by no means forgotten. Tommy and his 
wife kept a little shop and " a few chicken," not 
to mention a small farm, and these, with other 
speculations, engaged their attention so fully that 
they had none to bestow on horticulture. It is to 
its occupiers of to-day that the garden at the Red 
House owes its pleasantness and plenty. Nor is the 
toil expended on it unprofitable from a pecuniary 
point of view ; the products find a ready sale in 
the neighbouring townlets, and if any fruit be left on 
her hands, the mistress converts it into jam or home- 
made wine of which she sometimes brews as many 
as eight varieties in the year. Rhubarb wine made 
by a certain ancient recipe is said to equal cham- 
pagne ! I decline all responsibility for this state- 
ment ; those of my readers who are so minded may 
test its accuracy by carrying out the directions 
given below which have come down from the 
eighteenth century and see the light of print now 
for the first time. The following Orange Brandy 
I can recommend from my own knowledge. 

Orange Brandy. — Four quarts of the best pale 

82 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

brandy, 2\ lb. of fine white sugar, the juice of 12 
Seville oranges, the rinds of 10, 1 quart of milk. 

Put the brandy into a large jar or open vessel 
with a cover ; add the juice and rind of the oranges, 
then the sugar. Heat the milk, and pour it boiling 
over the other ingredients in the pan. Let the 
liquid remain 6 or 8 days, stirring thoroughly each 
day. Strain into bottles and cork well. 

Rhubarb Wine. — To every gallon of cold water 
put 4 lb. of rhubarb bruised on a clean board, 
with a clean mallet over a tub or large pan. Let 
the fruit and the water stand 12 days, stirring daily. 
Strain the liquid, and add 3J lb. of sugar to every 
gallon of juice. Scald with 2 quarts of juice \ lb. of 
cream of tartar ; let it stand until cold, then pour 
it and the other liquid into the cask. Stir daily for 
a fortnight, and when it has ceased working put 
in the bung. This wine should be made in August 
or September ; early in February the bung should 
be removed in order to colour and fine the liquid 
as follows : To 18 gallons of wine add \ oz. of 
fluid cochineal and 1 oz. of isinglass. Replace the 
bung in the cask, and it should be fit to bottle in 
March. The corks must be wired with copper wire 
and the bottles laid down. 

I think that little touch about the corks suggests 
hopeful possibilities. 

Black Currant Wine. — This has written against 
it on the recipe, " Very fine." To every 3 quarts 
of juice allow the same amount of water unboiled, 

83 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and to every 3 quarts of the liquid add 3 lb. of 
very pure moist sugar. Put all into a cask, re- 
serving a little for rilling up. Place the cask in 
a warm, dry room and the liquid will ferment of 
itself. Skim off the refuse when fermentation ceases, 
and fill up with the reserved liquid. When it has 
ceased working, pour in 3 quarts of brandy to 40 
quarts of wine. Bung it close for nine months, 
then bottle it and strain the thick part through a 
jelly bag until it be clear, when it also can be 
bottled. Keep it ten or twelve months before 
drinking. 

Besides being highly esteemed as beverages, the 
home-made wines are used for various culinary 
purposes, such as mixing puddings ; with them 
delicious preserves of pears and apples can also 
be made. The hard winter pears of which I have 
spoken are excellent prepared by the following 
method. 

Preserved Baking Pears. — Peel, halve, and weigh 
the pears. Put them into a jar with 1 oz. of 
candied citron and lemon peel sliced, 12 cloves, and 
a little mixed spice to every pound of fruit. Cover 
them with any kind of home-made wine — plum, 
dandelion, or cowslip would be good. If no wine 
be obtainable, sweet cider may be used. The jar 
should be an earthenware, fireproof one. When 
the pears are covered with the liquid, place the jar 
in a bain-marie, or in the oven, and stew gently 
until the fruit is done. Strain off the juice and 

84 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

boil this with i lb. of lump sugar to every pound 
of pears — original weight. Pour the syrup over 
the pears and cover down with a bladder. They 
will keep through the winter. 

The words " cowslip wine " seem to bring with 
them a breath of the country and the fragrant 
fields. When these flowers were in bloom, we 
children used to be very busy and important, 
gathering the blossoms, pulling the pips and drying 
them in the sun. They were subsequently stored 
in tins and produced — sometimes, it must be con- 
fessed, in a melancholy state of green mould — on 
special occasions such as a dolls' tea-party. We 
drank the sad liquid, innocent of flavour or colour 
save its own, with serene enjoyment, seeming to 
find it "milk of paradise" which, looking back, I 
think it must have been. The only beverage that 
in later years has afforded me equal satisfaction, 
was tea in an Alpine hut after a long day's scramble. 

The dolls' tea-party stage passed; we still gathered 
cowslips, but for wine which we made from the 
following simple recipe. 

Coivslip Wine. — Nine pints of water, 2 lb. of 
sugar. Boil and skim well, pour it hot upon 1 quart 
of picked cowslips ; next day strain it and put to 
it two spoonfuls of yeast. Let it stand in an 
earthen pan a fortnight to work, covered close, and 
stirred three times a day for the first three days. 
Then drain it into bottles and stop it tight. It will 
keep for a year. 

85 



Chapter VI 

I HAVE said that before the present garden- 
loving tenants came to the Red House it was 
occupied by an elderly couple, Dench by name. 
Tommy was a cripple, having lost his leg by an 
accident in his youth, since when he had walked 
with crutches ; very strong these latterly required 
to be, for he had gathered bulk with years and 
would have made two ordinary-sized men. 

When Tommy laughed, which was often, his fat 
sides and pendulous chin shook to an alarming 
extent, and his eyes vanished from sight amid the 
folds of his ample cheeks. He was a past master 
in the art of "chopping," otherwise dealing, and 
while unrivalled at extracting the maximum ot 
work from those about him, put in the minimum 
himself. His chief occupation consisted in driving 
over his farm in the spring-cart ; when not engaged 
in this or the aforesaid dealing, he was generally 
to be found, if the weather were fine, standing at 
his back door propped on his crutches and piously 
thanking a kind Providence for the mercies vouch- 
safed him in his old age. 

86 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

These expressions of gratitude were not echoed 
by Betsy his wife, who certainly had some ground 
for complaint. " Thee dwun't sim to reemember 
as I wants a bit o' rest now an' agen an' some 
joyment," was her plaintive cry as she bustled 
backwards and forwards, incessantly busied between 
household duties, the care of the shop and the 
fowls referred to elsewhere. " What hever thee'll 
do, Thomas, when I be took, and thee has nothen 
but what thee can scrabble about arter, is more'n 
I can say." 

" Thee needn'st to fret thyself about ma ; ther' 
be as good fish in the sea as ever corned out on't," 
he would reply ; " an' if the Lard wills to take 
thee afore me, 'tis more'n like I could get ma 
another missus, or, failin' that, my sister as is a 
widder 'ud come an' look arter ma." 

Betsy had an effective retort to speeches ot this 
description. "Aye, thee med get 'ee another missus, 
but not one who'd put up wi' your grizzlin's and 
growlin's like I do ; nor one who'd work early an' 
late, marnin', noon and night and hand 'ee over 
the brass as sweet as honey — never ax 'ee fur a 
penny, I don't, to put in the bank ! " 

This was Betsy's great grievance ; she longed 
with her whole soul for an account, however small, 
in the Post Office Savings Bank. For years she 
had kept this end in view and striven her utmost 
to attain it ; but Tommy, who scented money as a 
camel scents water, rigorously exacted every penny 

87 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

of her earnings from every source, and hitherto 
she had been unable to lay by so much as a shilling 
in her own name. 

" What's thine's mine," quoted the old man, who 
carefully forbore to reverse the axiom, struggle 
as Betsy might against the injustice. Matters went 
on thus between husband and wife, until at length 
one summer they reached such an acute stage that 
the former began to feel uneasy. Did Betsy really 
intend to revolt? If so, he would disarm her before- 
hand by taking her into his confidence. 

" Thee've got a wunnerful good headpiece o' 
thine, missus," he began ; " I wull say that fur 'ee. 
Wi' all thy faults — an', lor' bless 'ee, they be a 
many ! — thee be uncommon sharp at choppin' an' 
dealin' ; what do 'ee think o' my buyin' another 
'arse an' trap ? " 

But Betsy was not to be mollified with this 
palpable morsel of flattery. "Thee've got one 'arse 
a' ready ; / don't see no call to buy another," she 
replied acidly. 

" Well, 'ee knaws, 'tis like this. I've a-yeard as 
some Lunnon people be comin' clown to the farm 
next wik fur change o' hair, or summat sich, an' 
townsfolk alius likes drivin' over the country — 'tis a 
change to go rattlin' along a good road wher' you 
meets next to nothen, arter them nasty strits o' 
their'n ; 'urn sez they be sa chockful o' wagins an' 
caerts that you cassn't drive no pace. Thinks 
I — ''Spose these folks hires my noo trap a smart 

88 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

few times, then when they be gone, mebbe I can 
sell he to parson,' ' and Thomas winked sig- 
nificantly. 

" Wher's the money comin' from to pay fur'n ? 
Tell ma that, Thomas, if thee can," was Betsy's 
uncompromising demand. 

He was equal to the occasion however : " Thee 
dwun't knaw everythink, missus. Fur more'n a 
twel'month I've scrope an' scrope ; 'tvvur on'y last 
wik as I got anuff. I selled some straw to parson — 
ah, I alius likes dealin' wi' parson : he's a gen'elman, 
he is, an' dwun't knaw the price o' nothink." 

" Thee bist a lang-yedded chap an' no mistake ! " 
exclaimed his wife with extorted admiration. 
" Bother that shop ! " as a knock was heard at the 
front door which opened on the street. 

"'Twas Hilder Ann for a penn'orth o' tea an' 
would I please to lend her mother a pin : 'tis on'y 
yesterday — no, I be tellin' a lie, 'twas the day afore — 
that she borrowed a couple and she hasn't returned 
'urn yet. But ther', some folks is that dishonest 
ther's no trustin' 'urn wi' anythink ! " and Mrs. 
Dench returned to her work of peeling the potatoes 
for dinner, in an access of virtuous indignation. 

" As I wur a-sayin'," continued Tommy, " Muster 
Bartemer ha' got a trap he wants to sell — a waggle- 
net, or summat o' that, he calls it. But Muster 
Bartemer alius astes top price fur his things — he do. 
I dwun't mane any harm by the man, but I do wish 
as God A'mighty 'ud pick 'un up an' drop 'un down 

8q 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

in a spiky place : mebbe then he 'udn't fancy his- 
self quite sa much." 

Despite the unfavourable opinion he entertained 
of Muster Bartemer, Tommy sounded him as to the 
lowest price he would take for the coveted articles, 
and after an incredible amount of haggling and 
chaffering, a bargain was struck by which the latter 
became the possessor of a " wagglenet what shucked 
about awful," as Betsy grimly remarked, and a 
gaunt quadruped called a horse, distinguished rather 
for speed than points. 

Meanwhile, the visitors from London had arrived. 
Tommy lost no time in sending to inform them 
that if they wanted a trap, he would be happy to 
accommodate them, " An' tell urn," he added, " that 
we shan't quar'l about the price, fur I leaves that to 
their honour." 

Mrs. Dench was in her garden the following 
morning when she heard strange voices on the 
bridge and a ripple of girlish laughter that sounded 
like music across the water. A few minutes later 
there was a knock at the front door and two people, 
a young man and a maiden, stepped inside from the 
hot sunshine without. 

The latter was dressed in white from the crown 
of her dainty sailor hat to the tip of her small shoe : 
her eyes were dark, and on each clear pale cheek 
was a pink flush, for all the world as if a petal from 
a La France rose had fallen there by accident and 
liking its soft resting place, had made up its mind to 

90 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 



remain. Her companion was tall and straight, with 
close-cropped hair and a certain quick masterful 
way about him, except when he spoke to the young 
lady : then, as Betsy noticed, his voice " was that 

saft, aim 'ud 
think he was 
talkin' to a 
babby." 

" I believe 
you have a 
carriage that 
you let out 
on hire," he 
began in a 
lordly fa- 
shion. 

" P lease, 
sir, you'd best 
speak to 
the master. 
Thomas, 
here's quality 
come about 
that waggle- 
net. Please to step this way, sir; my 'usban's a 
cripple and goes hoppety-like," and Mrs. Dench, 
punctuating her speech with curtseys for commas, 
preceded the visitors through the house to find the 
old man at the back door, propped on his crutches 
as usual. After a short palaver as to the charge 

9i 




* CPy rus^/afiomca. 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

for the use of the vehicle, the horse was put into 
the shafts by the united efforts of Tommy, his wife, 
and a small boy who was kept to do odd jobs ; the 
gentleman helped his pretty companion to the box 
seat, mounted up beside her and drove away 
towards the farm with a flourish of his whip that 
excited the admiration of all beholders. 

A quarter of an hour later the cripple hopped 
into the shop where his wife was engaged in count 
ing out a halfpennyworth of marbles to a micro- 
scopic child. " Betsy, Betsy ! " cried he, while his 
fat cheeks quivered with excitement, " ther' be six 
on um ! 

" Cassn't 'ee hold your jaw a minnit ? " she 
retorted, continuing her occupation. " Now," as the 
child departed, " what do 'ee want wi' ma ? " 

" Ther' be six on'um in the wagglenet — them two 
a-sweetheartin' on the box an' fower behindt — an I 
on'y axed 'um five shillin' ! " 

" Thee bist an ole fool," was her unfeeling reply : 
"he said a didn't mind what a paid. Thee med 
ha' axed 'un double an' he'd ha' paid it wi'out 
grizzlin'." 

" I'll have it out of 'un somehow, blest if I wun't ! " 
murmured Tommy who for the rest of the day was 
consumed with unavailing regret. 

During the next few weeks the wagonette was in 
constant requisition and things went entirely to 
Mr. Dench's satisfaction. True, his prices, which 
appeared to be on an upward sliding scale, did not 

92 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

in all probability give the same to his customers ; 
but there was ever some good reason why the last 
journey was rather more expensive than its pre- 
decessor. The road was bad or the hills were 
steep or the horse had just been out and could only 
be spared as a favour. It is possible that the 
visitors began to suspect old Tommy was not as 
simple as he looked, for when the gentleman came 
round as usual one day with his pretty companion, 
he declared his intention of hiring the carriage by 
the hour. " What will your charge be ? " he 
asked. 

" Plase to wait sir, till we've got 'un up," panted 
Betsy who was assisting the boy to hoist Tommy 
into the cart. 

"By the hour, did 'ee say?" repeated the old 
man when the dangerous ascent had been accom- 
plished ; " lemme see," and he pondered a while in 
silence. " I mos'n gen'ly lets 'un out by distance, 
so to spake," said he, after an elaborate mental 
calculation, " but to obbligate you as you've had 'un 
a good few times, I'll mek an expection an' let you 
have it fur three shillin' an hour." 

" Very good, we'll fetch it at three o'clock," and 
the two took their departure, returning to the farm 
by the path along the stream where are many 
shady nooks among the trees and soft mossy banks 
inviting dalliance, and where the ripple of the water 
over the stones is plainly to be heard — by an ear 
attuned — singing " I love you, sweet, I love you ! " 

93 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

That night old Tommy's mind was troubled, and 
his sleep went from him. Never had he been 
worsted in a bargain before, and to think that a 
mere " Lunnon chap " had proved the better man, 
was gall and wormwood to his soul. 

When the visitor arrived the following morn- 
ing to pay for the carriage, he was received with 
plaintive, even tearful reproaches. 

" You had the trap fur an hour — that's three 
shillin' — ther' wur six on you, an' you druv to 
Cateswick, fur some 'un telled ma as sin you ther. 
Cateswick be fower mile ther' an fower mile back — 
that be eight mile. Six on you ! Eight mile ! 
Three shillin' ! Why, ten't a penny a mile apiece ! 
Oh, 'tis crool work, crool work ! Th' old oomans as 
goes to markut all scrunched up in a common caert 
pays moor nor that. To think o' you Lunnon folk 
a-comin' down year, a-ridin' in my wagglenet, a- 
drivin' my 'arse that cost ma sich a comenjous lot 
o' money, an' on'y payin' sixpence apiece fur eight 
mile ! It meks I sweat it do ; it meks I trimble to 
think on't," and two large tears rolled slowly down 
his fat cheeks. 

The end of the matter was that a compromise 
was effected whereby fixed prices were substituted 
for a sliding scale, and ere the interview terminated, 
Tommy's round face was beaming like an amiable 
full moon. 

" The young gen'elman sez as they be all a-gwine 
away purty soon," he remarked to his wife ; 

94 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" they've just about joyed theirselves down year ; 
an' he tells ma it's more'n like he'll bring the young 
lady agen next summer an' have some more drives, 
but I dwunno if I shall be able to 'blige 'urn then." 

" I reckon them two's a-thinkin' o' gettin' wed," 
struck in Betsy who, womanlike, scented a ro- 
mance ; " an' he med go furder an' fare wuss, fur 
she's a swate purty cratur. Lor' bless me, dwun't 
he jest dote on her ! Well, well, that's what 'tis to 
be young. Thee med a fuss o' me onst, Thomas." 

" Ah, but thee wur never much to look at, Betsy ; 
nob'dy could say as I wed thee fur thy looks, my 
gal. I be gwine to church a-Sunday ; 'tis a 'mazin 
long time sence I went — nigh on fower 'ears — an' I 
manes to 'tend reglar fur a spell." 

Mrs. Dench turned and regarded her husband 
with genuine concern. " Thee doesn't feel theeself 
bad no'ers, dost Thomas, that thee talks o' gwine 
to church ? " 

" No, lor love 'ee ! I be as well as iver in my 
life. 'Tis this way, luk'ee. Parson wants to buy 
an 'arse an' trap ; I wants to sell our'n, so we med 
as well have a deal together. I alius likes sellin' to 
parson, an' it meks a man feel comfer'ble-like to go 
to church now an' agen, 'specially if you've arrathing 
to sell to parson." 

Thereafter was witnessed the edifying sight of 
Tommy hopping down to church each Sunday 
evening, and stopping in the churchyard after ser- 
vice to exchange greetings with the parson's wife, to 

95 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

whom he confided that " the sarmint hit ma hard, 
an' just about med ma shuckit and trimble." 

It will be remembered that Tommy's garden 
was connected by a narrow plank with the orchard 
across the stream. The old man who frequently 
went over to feast his eyes upon the spectacle of the 
gaunt quadruped feeding under the fruit trees, was 
on the frail bridge one morning, when either his 
crutches slipped, or he became giddy — he was never 
quite clear how the mishap occurred — and he fell 
prone on his face in the water below. Owing to his 
lameness he was unable to move, and the mud that 
filled his mouth, prevented his calling for help. 
Happily, however, " Odd-jobs " had heard the 
splash and quickly raised the cry that " Maister 
be a-layin' on his stummick in the bruk a- 
drowndin'." 

Within a few minutes six or seven women and a 
couple of men appeared on the scene, and after 
much heaving, struggling and hauling, they suc- 
ceeded in conveying him to land, " drippin' like an 
old yow," as one of the rescuers remarked. 

(I did not happen to see the sight myself, but an 
eyewitness described it to me as inexpressibly 
funny.) Poor Tommy was wheeled in a barrow to 
the house ; the women removed his wet garments, 
Betsy being too much upset to be of any assistance, 
and he was put to bed to recover from the shock 
and the immersion. 

" Ah, that did mek I feel bad," he said, when 

9 b 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

sufficiently restored to recount his sensations. " I 
wur frowtened an' no mistake. Thinks I, I be 
drownded an' stuffocated fur sure, 'cause, luk'ee, I 
couldn't move me hand nor fut. But the Lard wur 
marciful and presarved ma — 'twas a mussy as I'd 
ha' bin to church lately ! " 

"'Tis all along o' that dratted arse," quoth Betsy 
wrathfully ; " thee didn't never go acrass to look at 
'tother 'un. A noo broom swapes clane ; but when 
it's a scrub ther's a job. Thee'll ha' the brantitus 
fur thy pains ; mark my words." 

She proved a true prophet. Tommy was laid up 
for some weeks with his old enemy bronchitis, and 
during that time Betsy resolved upon a deed of 
derring-do at which she has not ceased to wonder. 
She determined at last to revolt once and for all, 
and accordingly she not only refused to hand over 
her earnings intact to her lord and master, but 
further took upon herself to make away with the 
obnoxious horse and carriage, the purchase of which 
she had never approved. She did not intend, 
however, to sell it to the parson who had been 
assiduous in his attentions to her husband during 
the latter's illness. 

" I ben't a-gwine to ax he to buy 'un," she said to 
herself, "parson have anuff to do wi' his brass 
wi'out wastin' it upon a rattle-trap an' a bag o' 
bwuns. I wur barned an' bred up in church, though 
ten't much I goes there now. Them Methody folks 
at Cateswick wants summat to get about the 

97 g 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

country in, so 'urn sez, an* their money be as good 
as arra-one's, I reckon." 

Therefore Betsy, who was a churchwoman in her 
peculiar way, disposed of the " wagglenet " and the 
horse on her own responsibility to the Methody 
folks. What she received for them is shrouded in 
mystery to this day. She handed over the sum of 
twenty-one pounds to her husband, with the remark 
that he " med think hisself lucky his venter hadn't 
turned out no wuss, fur he'd made a matter o' 
twen'y shillin' on the deal, besides the hire to the 
Lunnon folk." Beyond this she vouchsafed no 
further information, and Tommy's most strenuous 
efforts failed to elicit the actual amount she had 
obtained. This reticence, coupled with the fact 
which he shortly after discovered, that she had 
opened an account in the Savings Bank, aroused 
the darkest suspicions within his breast, and it is 
remarked by his intimates that among numerous 
bargains this is the only one on the subject of which 
he maintains a dignified reserve. 



98 




AN UPLAND HAYFHU.D. 



Chapter VII 



THE farmhouse which opens its hospitable 
doors to occasional " Lunnon folk," has 
hitherto escaped modern improvements and re- 
mains an unpretentious thatched and gabled dwell- 
ing, encompassed by garden, yard and orchard. 
The bedrooms are small, with low ceilings and 
sloping floors, so that lighter movable articles roll 
down hill until brought up by the wainscot ; but 
no one would carp at such trifling inconveniences 
who had made the acquaintance of that downy 
white nest, the bed, and had inhaled the sweet 
air that blows in through the open window. Dur- 
ing summer roses come tapping at the casement 
to rouse the drowsy sleeper, and through all the 
slow-revolving months there floats up from the 

99 

LOFC. 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

yard a chorus of country sounds — the " bellocking" 
of calves, the insistent voices of the ducks as they 
waddle in a long file to the orchard pond, the cock's 
shrill morning call and the soft notes of the pigeons 
in their cote among the trees. 

Downstairs, the best parlour, with its hard sofa 
and many crocheted antimacassars, is less attrac- 
tive than the flagged kitchen which is the largest 
as well as the brightest room the house contains. 
In the good old days when the relations between 
employers and employed were semi-patriarchal, 
the kitchen was the common dining-hall. The 
carter boys sat at the foot of the table, above 
them the men and the maids, while at the head 
presided the master and mistress, the arrangement 
being doubtless, a survival of feudal times, with the 
tall salt-cellar that divided gentle from simple. 
To-day all is changed : the farmer and his wife sit 
in empty state at the great table, while the men 
dine not so well at home. 

The kitchen windows are filled with plants that 
are watered daily from the teapot, and between 
them peep the earliest sunbeams, flashing back 
from polished covers and dancing on the china with 
which the dresser is loaded. Where space permits, 
a gay almanac adorns the walls or an oleograph 
which needs no printed legend to denote from 
whence it hails. The high mantelpiece is flanked 
on one side by a portrait of Queen Victoria, on the 
other by a crude presentment of the great German 

100 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Chancellor in his most iron mood. A bird of 
passage from Teutonic lands was staying in the 
village a few years ago ; happening to call at the 
farm she perceived this picture and with an ex- 
clamation of rapturous surprise, she launched herself 
upon it. " Ach, you haf then here our great Bis- 
marck ? I could not think that in a so little village 
you know him ! But it is wunderschon ! " 

Her enthusiasm appeared to interest Mrs. Pin- 
marsh who danced at the likeness with more 
respect than she had hitherto displayed towards 
it : " So you know the gentleman, Miss ? Well 
now, if that isn't strange. I wanted something 
to set against the Queen yonder, so I bought 
this off a man who come round, thinking it would 
do as well as anything else. My master sez he was 
a great person in his own country — France, I be- 
lieve it was, but I don't rightly know, for I've not 
much time to read newspapers. But lor', don't he 
look a reg'lar old grim, whoever he is ! " 

The explanation failed to chill Fraulein's ardour, 
and she doubtless informed a credulous Fatherland 
on her return thither, that admiration for Bismarck 
obtains among the humbler ranks of society in 
England to the extent of hanging his portrait 
alongside that of the late Queen. 

Mrs. Pinmarsh in truth, has not much leisure 
for reading of any description. Her life is a 
round of unceasing occupation, broken at rare 
intervals by a shopping excursion to the neigh- 

IOI 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

bouring town or by still rarer visits to her married 
children. Politics proper she leaves to her 
husband, hers being those of the farmyard and 
the hearth. The sex of the Jersey cow's expected 
calf is a question beside which that of the Far East 
fades into insignificance; her " indemnity" has to 
do with fowls and foxes and the secretary of the 
local hunt. She derives her pocket money from the 
profits on poultry and dairy produce, and if any 
disaster occur in these departments, her income 
suffers accordingly. 

So lucrative a branch of home industry as 
butter- making the mistress undertakes herself: 
the churning alone she delegates to " the girl," 
but maintaining a strict supervision, lest the latter 
should "jump " or " gallop " the cream in order 
to expedite matters. Sometimes, during very hot 
weather, it is seized with what Mrs. Pinmarsh 
styles " an ock'erd turn," and steadily refuses to 
change its condition. The cattle man, employed 
about the yard to look after the animals or the 
" f°gg er >" as we ca ^ him in our part of the world, 
has then to be summoned to aid in coercing the 
defiant fluid, and the weary " chump-chump " of 
the churn may be heard the livelong day. When 
at last a few knobs of butter appear floating on 
the vasty gulf, they are certain to be white, rank, 
uneatable. An up-to-date neighbour who had 
attended the County Council's dairy classes, once 
ventured to suggest that such waste of time, 

102 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

labour and patience might be avoided by carefully 
regulating the cream's temperature. The hint, 
however, did not accord with Mrs. Pinmarsh's 
domestic philosophy. She had made butter a 
good many years, seeing she was a farmer's 
daughter before she was a farmer's wife : the cream 
always had been contrary in hot weather, and of 
course it always would be. This talk about 
temperature was just one of the newfangled ideas 
of which there were too many knocking about 
nowadays. As if you could change the nature 
of cream by putting a thermometer into it ! 

Though Mrs. Pinmarsh's dairy may be open to 
criticism, her management of poultry is above 
reproach, and the boldest spirit would pause before 
offering unsolicited advice on this subject. Her 
chickens are the earliest in the market, her 
ducks are renowned for their size and their 
tenderness in eating, her fowls lay throughout 
the severest winter. The secret of their obliging- 
ness in this last respect she attributes to the fact 
that they are fed daily during cold weather with 
hot food, and in addition, are given a small quan- 
tity of raw meat two or three times a day, since 
she holds that " it pays to treat them gener- 
ously." By way of response to the consideration 
shown them, Mrs. Pinmarsh's fowls plainly model 
themselves upon their mistress's pattern. Like 
her they are placid, methodical, industrious, doing 
their duty not by fits and starts, but punctually 

103 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and with regularity. Staid matrons they are, 
among whom such vagaries as roosting out at 
night and stealing of nests is not so much as 
thought of. They are, in short, totally unlike the 
fowls with which I had to do, and though less in- 
teresting, are probably more satisfactory from a 
business point of view. 




MRS. PINMARS1I S FOWLS GO TO ROOST. 



When the multifarious duties of the day are 
over and the last customer has been served 
with milk ; when the eggs have been collected, 
the chickens and the young ducks safely housed 
for the night, the farmer's wife brings out an 
ample work basket and darns her husband's long 
blue worsted stockings or mends his shirts while 

104 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

he sits in his Windsor armchair by the fire, 
smoking the pipe of silence and of peace. 

From time to time she lets fall an observation 
of domestic interest to which he returns a 
monosyllabic reply ; she propounds a question anent 
the state of the crops, when he rouses himself 
and for a few minutes becomes almost loquacious. 
One evening during the six is distinguished from 
the rest by special characteristics. Not only is 
it pay night, but that also on which the weekly 
journal arrives — the sole glimpse the couple enjoy 
of the great world beyond their own immediate 
ken. Mrs. Pinmarsh's needle flies yet more swiftly 
as " the master " in a laboured monotone, reads 
aloud for her benefit the chief items of interest. 
These would formerly have included little beyond 
a local police-case or a sensational murder, but such 
topics have been pushed into the background by 
the South African War which has stirred the hearts 
of our people as nothing else for many years has 
done. The causes that led to the conflict are 
shrouded from the villagers in impenetrable mystery. 
Even Farmer Pinmarsh has but vague ideas on the 
subject. He had heard that "they Boers had got 
hold of something which belongs by right to us — 
a pit full o' gold, some people said, and as they 
wouldn't give it up we were bound to fight 'urn, 
whether we liked it or no." Though believing 
the enemy to be "good sort o' folks in the main 
— farmers like myself," he has nothing but repro- 

105 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

bation for their stubbornness, which quality is, of 
course, a monopoly of the British race and highly 
unbecoming in any other. 

" They be sa dogged — sa wunnerful dogged ! " 
he will say with a mixture of anger and pity 
towards the men who were so shortsighted as to defy 
his country. Of the final issue of the struggle, even 
in our darkest hours, he never entertained a doubt. 

" We've never been beat yet by what I can 
mek' out," he remarked to me, "an' 'tisn't likely 
we mean to start that sort o' game now. You'll 
see as they Boers 'ull like us all the better when 
we've smashed 'urn, same as a dog that 'ull alius 
come back to the one who beats it." 

Being no less old fashioned than his wife, the 
farmer strongly condemns free trade which he 
holds is ruining England and draining her of 
money to enrich aliens. 

" Why," he asks, " cannot the foreigner keep his 
nasty food in his own country ? We should do 
a deal better without it over here. If folks would 
be content with wholesome home-grown stuff they 
wouldn't get half the bad diseases they do. Look 
at this influenzy : 'tis all brought over in the 
foreign food. You don't know what you are 
eating nowadays, and farming is just being throttled 
by everything coming in free ! The wonder is 
enough fools can be found to take the land, seeing 
every year we've more difficulty in making a living 
out of it." 

1 06 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Notwithstanding these vaticinations, Farmer 
Pinmarsh, with others as shrewd and industrious 
as himself, continues to lay by a trifle, and to 
lack meanwhile none of the necessaries and few 
of the comforts of life. Nevertheless it is true 
that large fortunes can no longer be made by 
farming, and the last thirty years which have 
brought the labourer prosperity, his master has 
found lean. With them have departed much of 
the proverbial farmhouse abundance ; this is seen 
now only on special occasions — at Christmas or 
Whitsuntide, when scattered families unite beneath 
the paternal roof. Then indeed, the board groans 
under the weight of good cheer ; the turkey 
or fowls reserved to that purpose when the 
remainder were sold, will be sacrificed ; cakes 
and pies will overflow from the farm oven to the 
village bakehouse, and one of the mighty hams, 
weighing 40 lb. and upwards, will be unslung 
from its hook and boiled— in the copper because 
the house contains no vessel large enough to hold 
it. Very excellent eating these hams are, rivalling 
if not excelling those of Yorkshire justly famed. 
In fact, the best I have ever tasted was cured by 
the following recipe — 

Curing Hams.— When the weather permits, 
hang the ham three days ; mix 1 oz. of saltpetre, 
\ lb. of bay salt, the same quantity of common 
salt and of coarse sugar, with two quarts of strong 
beer. Boil them all together and turn immediately 

107 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

upon the ham. If the latter be so large that the 
pickle seems inadequate, double the quantity of 
beer. Turn the ham in the pickle twice a day 
for three weeks, i oz. of black pepper and the 
same amount of allspice in fine powder added 
to the above will give it still more flavour. Cover 
the ham, when wiped, with bran and smoke from 
three to four weeks as you approve. The latter 
period will make it harder and give it more the 
flavour of Westphalian hams. These ingredients 
are only sufficient for one ham ; if two are to be 
cured, double the quantities. If smoked by a 
strong fire, the ham should be sewn in coarse 
wrappering. 

Mrs. Pinmarsh possesses some curious ancient 
recipes (of which she allowed me to copy a few) 
that have been handed down in her family for 
several generations. That given below — in modern 
terms for the convenience of my readers — she knows 
to be at least two hundred years old. It came to 
her from her great-aunt who died at the advanced 
age of ninety-three, and the latter in her turn re- 
ceived it from her grandmother. 

Christmas Pudding. — 2 lb. of raisins, stoned, 2 lb. 
of currants, 2 lb. of suet, \\ lb. of flour, \ lb. of 
bread crumbs, 2J lb. of sugar, \ lb. of chopped 
candied peel, 8 eggs, and 1 quart of milk. Mix all 
the ingredients together and let them stand during 
the night in order to swell the bread. Then if too 
stiff, add a little more milk. Turn in a glass of 

108 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

brandy and boil for four hours, and one hour before 
sending to the table. 

In making the above it should be remembered, as 
the farmer's wife pointed out to me, that in old days 
a pudding of this description would probably be boiled 
in a cloth and would therefore require a shorter 
period than one boiled in a mould. She allows at 
least eight hours, being well aware, good house- 
keeper as she is, that a plum-pudding's excellence 
depends scarcely less on the manner and time of its 
cooking, than on the material of which it is made. 
This fact was amusingly demonstrated at the Dia- 
mond Jubilee. We celebrated it by a gala day 
in which a public dinner played an important part 
according to the orthodox English fashion. The 
puddings were entrusted to the various better-class 
housewives of the village, who were each supplied 
with an equal amount of raw material. When the 
manufactured articles were marshalled ready for the 
table, it was seen that they ranged in colour from 
light fawn to a rich brown that was almost black. 
There was no urgent demand for the pale uninvit- 
ing-looking dumplings, and the chagrined makers 
broke forth into indignant remonstrances, declar- 
ing that the original ingredients of the others must 
have been largely supplemented to have produced 
such different results. They could with difficulty 
be persuaded that these were solely due to more 
lengthened periods of boiling. 

Not every one is aware that a wine said to be 

109 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

excellent, resembling Frontiniac, can be made from 
elder-flowers. My recipe does not boast the antiquity 
of that for Christmas pudding, being only a hundred 
and twenty years old. 

Elder-Flozver Wine. — Boil 6 lb. of white sugar 
and 3 lb. of raisins of the sun, chopped, in 3 gallons 
of water for one hour. Take half a peck of the 
flowers of elder, just fading : put them into the 
liquor when it is cold. The following day put in 
the juice of two large lemons and two tablespoon- 
fuls of good yeast : let it stand covered for two 
days, strain off and tun in a clean cask : put the 
bung in lightly for a fortnight, then to every gallon 
of liquor add one pint of Rhenish. Stop the cask 
tightly and let the wine stand six months. 

Yet another ancient recipe is that for yam, or, if 
preferred, banana pudding. 

Yam Ptiddmg. — Boil 2 lb. of yams until they are 
tender, and rub them quite smooth. Beat up the 
yolks of 8 and the whites of 4 eggs, with ^ pint of 
cream and \ lb. of creamed butter. Add \ lb. of 
sugar, a wineglass of sack, a wineglass of brandy, 
some grated nutmeg. Mix all well together and 
steam for one hour or bake in a dish. 

The following for stuffed loin of mutton was 
given to me by an elderly lady whose grandmother 
had made use of it, so that it probably dates back 
to the middle of the eighteenth century. 

Take a loin of mutton, have it boned and the skin 
removed, rub it with a gill of red wine, a tablespoon- 

110 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

ful of moist sugar, the same quantity of salt, a tea- 
spoonful of black pepper, and a tablespoonful of 




MRS. PINMARSH MAKES A PUDDING. 



mixed spice. Lay it open in a pan and pour over 
it a gill of red wine and a gill of vinegar. Let the 
mutton remain in the pickle two days. Prepare a 

in 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

forcemeat of thyme, marjoram, sweet basil and the 
rind of half a lemon — all chopped very fine — 2 oz. 
of beef suet or fat bacon chopped up, and J lb. of 
bread crumbs ; season with pepper and salt ; mix 
all the forcemeat together with the yolk of an egg. 
Spread the seasoning over the inside of the loin of 
mutton, roll this up tightly, and sew it together with 
a needle and whitey- brown thread. Place it in a 
stewpan, turn in the pickle, add a little Worcester- 
shire sauce, some browning and sufficient plain 
stock to enable the liquor to cover the meat : put 
in two onions stuck with cloves, some celery seed 
in a muslin bag, a stick of cinnamon and a table- 
spoonful of mushroom catsup. Stew gently for 
three hours. Lift the meat on to a dish, strain the 
gravy through a sieve into a jar and let it remain 
until the fat can be all skimmed off. Then put back 
the gravy into the pan ; add a teacupful of red wine, 
thicken with flour, put in the meat, make all hot, 
and serve with red-currant jelly. 

I should recommend any one who tries the above 
to use Burgundy for the red wine and arrowroot 
instead of flour to thicken the gravy. A few rasp- 
ings may be grated over the meat before it is sent 
to table. Mountain-ash instead of red-currant jelly 
is very good with this dish. 

Those who like something richer than rolled 
loin of mutton can try an old French recipe for a 
dish called farce of veal. 

Take 2 lb. of lean veal, 2 anchovies, and the 

112 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

yolks of 2 hard-boiled eggs ; 6 pickled or fresh 
mushrooms ; 1 2 oysters ; some sweet herbs and 
lemon peel, both chopped ; 1 teaspoonful of mixed 
spice. Mix the ingredients — except the veal — well 
together with the yolks of two raw eggs. Take a 
veal caul and lay on it some very thin slices of fat 
bacon : on these place the veal, and above that the 
forcemeat. Roll all up in the caul, skewer, and 
bake for one hour. Cut in slices and serve with 
good brown gravy and garnished with lemon. 

Years ago, ere the sons and daughters left their 
father's roof for homes of their own, and when 
agriculture was more lucrative than at present, the 
Pinmarshes' farm was the scene of many jovial gather- 
ings. There were hay parties and harvest-homes, 
cherry teas and Whitsuntide feasts, while at Christ- 
mas high revel was held. The lasses and lads 
from neighbouring; farms were bidden, and arrived 
amid the darkness of the winter evening, the 
former resplendent in best bib and tucker, the latter 
awkwardly conscious of Sunday clothes, with hair 
and faces shining from recent ablutions. A solemn 
stiffness befitting the little-used apartment pervaded 
the company when it assembled in the best parlour. 
The men clung bashfully together near the fireplace, 
exchanging remarks upon the weather, the state 
of the crops, the prospects of the lambing season, 
in voices rendered husky by damp and shyness ; 
the girls, demure and self possessed, sat in a semi- 
circle round the room conversing with decorous 

113 H 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

primness on equally absorbing topics of a domestic 
nature. The announcement that supper was ready, 
caused a visible thaw. Henceforth the business of 
the evening would be conducted on well-defined 
lines ; each guest knew what would be expected 
of him or her, the first duty being the consumption 
of as large a part as possible of the viands pre- 
pared. The meal, overpowering in its abundance 
to one whose appetite had not been previously 
sharpened by country air and exercise, was spread 
in the kitchen, which was decorated with holly and 
evergreens. Above the centre of the table de- 
pended a large bunch of mistletoe, and this by 
pointing many a jest and furnishing the theme for 
divers sly allusions, served as an effective aid to 
conversation. Supper banished shyness, loosened 
the most unready tongue, and set laughter free until 
the blackbeamed ceiling rang again. But it was 
when the feast was ended, and the table was pushed 
into one corner, that the real fun began. 

In those days healthy young men and maidens 
left cards to their elders ; such energetic pastimes 
as country dances, blind man's buff and hunt the 
slipper accorded better with their simple active 
life. Their mirth though noisy was innocent, and 
if a kiss or two were snatched beneath the mistletoe 
during the hurly-burly, the offence as a rule was 
speedily condoned by the insulted damsel, who 
accepted the reasonableness of her swain's argu- 
ment that it would be " nothen but a waste fur 

114 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Farmer Pinmarsh to hang up that fine bough if no 
use weren't made on it." 

Two ceremonies interrupted the games, and gave 
the players time to restore exhausted nature. The 
first was the appearance of a flaming bowl of 
snapdragon which elicited shrieks from the girls, 
and provoked the lads to deeds of daring in the 
struggle for the largest number of raisins, these 
being subsequently offered on Cupid's altar by each 
youth to his own bright particular star. The second 
interruption was the arrival of the Mummers — King 
George, the Doctor, white horse, and all — of whom 
a poor remnant still survives in the village. They 
regularly received a previous hint from the farmer 
that they would be welcomed on these occasions, 
and as regularly expressed their regret at intruding 
when " Maister had got comp'ny," which little piece 
of politeness was considered an essential part of the 
programme. The party broke up in the small hours 
of the morning, and departed to their various homes, 
after partaking of hot punch brewed by Mr. Pin- 
marsh as he sat in his armchair watching the young 
folks. 

He seldom brews punch nowadays: save when 
a neighbour drops in, there is no one but himself to 
enjoy it, and it is dull work, he says, drinking alone. 
He finds the house quiet compared to what it 
formerly was ; he wishes " the children could ha' 
bid always young," and when his wife meets these 
remarks by the question of where he thinks 4< the 

115 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

world 'ud be, if you could have your way," he 
replies with a twinkle " I reckon 'twould still be 
where 'tis, on'y mebbe ther' 'udn't be sa many folks 
in't. Leastways, 'twould be the poorer by your 
grandchildren, as you thinks sa much on." 

To Mrs. Pinmarsh's hay-parties only children 
were invited. The chief feature of the entertain- 
ment was a syllabub which she prepared herself 
from one of her old recipes. After tea and games 
among the hay, the little visitors were seated in a 
half-circle, and each was supplied with a saucer and 
a spoon. Every eye would then be turned in the 
direction of the yard, whence ere long Mrs. Pin- 
marsh would be seen coming towards the field, 
bearing a large china bowl, and various other 
impedimenta. Behind her solemnly marched the 
fogger leading the "best" cow — the one, that is, 
which gave the richest milk. The procession 
halted on the chord of the half-circle, and the 
rite commenced amid profound silence. Into the 
bowl was turned a bottle of home-brewed ale, 
deemed by the careful hostess more suited to 
youthful consumers than red or white wine. Then 
came sugar, white and sparkling, and as fine as sift- 
ing could make it ; nutmeg followed, grated while 
the guests looked on, and now there remained but to 
add the crowning glory. While the fogger — quite 
needlessly — held the quiet animal, that gazed about 
her mildly with a wondering eye, Mrs. Pinmarsh 
drew the sweet warm milk, until it frothed high 

116 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

in the bowl. The syllabub was ladled into 
saucers thrust forth by impatient hands, and, the 
ceremony ended, the cow was led back to the yard 
to resume her ordinary routine until hay time came 
round again. A favourite present-day form of 
summer entertainment is a cherry tea, the order 
of which is as follows : A number of friends and 
neighbours are bidden — the old proverb holding 
good at such times — and are conducted to a cherry 
orchard, where they are invited to gather and con- 
sume as much of the fruit as seems advisable to 
each individual. They subsequently repair to the 
farmhouse for tea, which proceeding, in view of the 
afternoon's occupation, seems to partake of the 
character of a work of supererogation. 

This part of the county is famed for its cherries, 
and grows them to a large extent. Formerly, the 
fruit was gathered by the occupier of the orchard, 
and sold to small dealers, who came in their carts 
from Newbury, Hungerford, Marlborough, and 
other distant towns, and if the villager were early 
astir on these occasions, he could purchase cherries 
— the choicest of them — at twopence per pound. 
Now however the orchards are sold en bloc, and the 
wholesale customer engages his own men to gather 
and pack the fruit. 

When the berries are ripening, the sound of guns 
is heard from sunrise to sunset. 

" It is like living in a besieged place," a new 
comer remarked ; men or boys being stationed in 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

every orchard to fire at the birds, who otherwise 
would leave little fruit to come to the hammer. 
The following cherry story, if not true, is at least 

ben trovato. Mr. A , a man of substance in 

the neighbourhood, and the owner of several or- 
chards, conceived a fancy many years since to 
visit Paris. Thither accordingly he journeyed, and 
seeing one day during his perambulations some 
fine cherries exposed for sale in a shop window, 
he went in and inquired the price. They were 
a franc a pound — a sum the farmer thought ex- 
cessive. " But they are English," explained the 

proprietor. This aroused Mr. A 's curiosity, 

and he asked from what part of England they came. 
" From a place called Berkshire," was the reply. 
Further investigation showed that they were the 
product of the village where he lived, probably 
from one of his own orchards. The story does not 
say whether he bought them back at more than 
three times the amount for which he sold them ! 



118 



Chapter VIII 

NOT long ago I met in one of my walks a 
village matron who, after exchanging with 
me the usual greetings, and the inevitable remarks 
on the iniquities of the weather, launched into an 
animated description of a sad loss her small poultry 
establishment had recently sustained. 

" Yes, I kips a few fowl," said she — " they be sich 
good comp'ny wi' their crowin' an' chucklin', let 
alone the eggs comin' handy to save the bacon. 
Larst 'ear I hatched out five beautiful chicken as 
ever you sin, an' I bred 'um up fine till a wik agoo. 
But one marnin' our Pete, as he led in bed, yeard a 
terr'ble clutterin' and row among the fowl, so up a 
gets an' out a goes to see what 'twur about. We'd 
noticed a greyhound a-brivettin' round the place the 
wik afoor ; he hadn't simmed to touch nothink then, 
but if you believe me, the marnin' as Pete went 
out ther' wur that dog ! He'd hucked one o' the 
chicken right out o' the coob an' yutted 'un full an' 
wholly, all save two or three o' his tail feathers — 
sich a strutty little torn he wur ! He fot another 
an' finished he, an' a wur just comin' back fur a 
third when Pete caught 'un an' larned 'un summat. 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

I reckon he wun't get mouchin' round our place 
agen in a hurry ! I'd put up a boord in front o' 
the coob to shun dogs and foxes an' sich, but he'd 
manage to scamble it away ; an' the chicken that 
wur left, wur that frowtened they flod away right 
on to the roof o' their house. They've simmed 
afeard to goo inside sence, fur fowls be cur'ous 
craturs, and knows moor'n arra-one 'ud think." I 
could fully indorse my garrulous old friend's state- 
ment that fowls were " cur'ous craturs." When my 
sister Jennie and I were schoolgirls we had charge 
of the poultry, and if the vagaries of our hens 
caused us infinite trouble, at least they afforded us 
plenty of amusement. Their independence and 
obstinacy were phenomenal : seldom would they 
condescend to lay in the boxes we provided, choos- 
ing rather some remote and inaccessible spot behind 
a pile of faggots, or buried deep in a clump of ivy. 

To stalk them to these stolen nests became an 
exciting pastime that demanded skill and caution, 
since if the enemy once caught sight of us, our 
game was lost ; and many of our play hours we 
employed thus on sunny spring and summer after- 
noons. Often our labour was in vain, the hen we 
selected being bent upon anything rather than lay- 
ing; but the hope of finding treasure-trove in the 
shape of a dozen or fourteen eggs, spurred us on 
to further efforts. One fowl, I remember, would 
persist in making her way upstairs to a bedroom 
— an easy thing to do in summer when the house 

J 20 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

doors were left open — and depositing her egg on 
the bed, or on the dressing-table where she was 
one day discovered, preening her feathers before 
the looking glass. 

Equally fastidious were our unruly fowls about 
the choice of a place wherein to sit. One broody 
hen remained for more than twenty-four hours 
doggedly standing over the eggs because they were 
not located to her fancy, and she adopted this 
method of expressing her determination to resist 
coercion. When two hens conceived a liking for 
the same nest, a fierce contest for the sole right 
of possession would ensue, resulting in the utter 
destruction of the eggs. Sometimes, however, 
these quarrelsome birds would sink private differ- 
ences in the cause that appealed to their highest 
instincts, as when a couple of broody matrons 
sat amicably side by side on the one setting of 
eggs and by their joint exertions succeeded in 
hatching out a healthy brood. Another time five — 
crowded into one small nest — were endeavouring, 
with more zeal than wisdom, to kindle the vital 
spark in a china nest-egg. 

A barndoor fowl shows to best advantage when 
she is engrossed by the cares and anxieties of a 
family. There are few prettier or more touching 
sights than that of a hen gathering her little ones 
about her at bedtime and settling down for the 
night. The tiny sleepy creatures tuck themselves 
away beneath her ample wings, until the wonder 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

grows how she can find room for so many. Pre- 
sently a fluffy head emerges from her feathers, and 
a chick, looking round with its bright eyes, bids the 
world a last good night before retiring ; or another 
infant, more adventurous, scales laboriously its 
mother's vast bulk, until it achieves a proud position 
on the summit. There it cuddles, but not for long ; 
sleep overtakes it, and it slips to the ground. Un- 
daunted it mounts again to meet a similar fate, and 
learning wisdom by experience, it seeks a humbler 
yet securer resting place among its brothers and 
sisters. Gradually the little ones' contented thrills 
subside ; the hen's low happy duckings die away, 
and the peaceful family nestle closer together as 
they fall into silence and slumber. 

Ducks in quite their early stage are even more 
delightful, I think, than chickens. Their beady 
black eyes, their droll wise air, their little busy 
bills for ever dibbling among the grass or in any 
available pool of water, no matter how dirty this be, 
render them quaintly attractive. Later, when their 
yellow down gives place to half-grown feathers, 
they have a ragged disreputable appearance, very 
different from their full-fledged sleek whiteness. 

A shallow pond shaded by a row of horse chest- 
nuts, lies near the centre of the Pinmarshes' orchard, 
and when the ducklings are sufficiently advanced in 
age and strength, their coop is moved from the fowl- 
yard to the field, and they are formally introduced to 
their native element. There they dive and swim 

122 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

almost within sight of their foster-mother, who, 
stretching her neck as far as possible between the 
bars of her cage, maintains throughout the day an 
incessant cackle of expostulation and entreaty, of 
reproach at their desertion, which fails to produce 
the slightest effect. The callous youngsters love 







THE RETURN JOURNEY. 



the pond, and are in no humour to quit its weedy 
joys until evening and feeding time recall them. 
Then, but not before, they waddle solemnly home 
again — a string of old heads on young shoulders 
— glad to accept the solicitude they once despised, 
and to seek warmth and safety beneath the hen's 
sheltering wings. 

The orchard is a pleasant place : late winter sees 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the ground in the corner beneath the hedge, yellow 
with aconites that gleam like stars among the grass. 
Spring, the enchantress, covers it with a dome of 
snow through which the sunshine falls, dappling the 
turf with spots of intense light. Among the fruit 
trees graze a few calves or a stray sheep, for the 
flocks are folded on outlying arable lands, and the 
cows feed in the low pastures of the vale. The 
latter are driven down each morning, returning to 
the homestead at night to be milked by the master 
who puts on a long white linen coat called a cow- 
gown, to protect his clothes from defilement when 
busied in the yard among the livestock. The air 
of the milking shed is heavy with the fragrant 
breath of the cows, as they stand in their stalls 
patiently waiting to be disburdened of their load, 
and turning gentle questioning eyes on the farmer 
who passes to and fro — a ghostly figure in the dim 
light. Since he took to milking he tells me that 
he has ceased to suffer from chilled or chapped 
hands, and he displays them with some pride, claim- 
ing that despite his other rough work they are as 
smooth as " the missus's." 

When his grandchildren whom he goes nearer 
spoiling than does his wife, are staying at the 
farm, they are allowed to suck up the warm milk 
through a clean straw from the frothing pails, and 
upon occasion to try their skill at milking. It is 
not often they succeed in extracting more than a 
few drops, and the farmer laughs and strokes the 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

cows, declaring that they know a strange hand, 
and that no one can get through the job as quickly 
as himself — not even the foop-er who feeds them. 

Adjoining the cowhouses are well-littered sties 
where fattening hogs, by which the great hams are 
supplied, lead a brief existence of sybaritic ease. 
They are seldom seen in public, preferring the 
luxurious seclusion of the inner sty, whence their 
small feet and inadequate legs can with difficulty 
support their unwieldy carcases the short journey 
to and from the feeding troughs. 

A striking contrast to these serene mountains of 
flesh is the lean-flanked sow next door. Round her 
swarm her numerous progeny that now launch them- 
selves with clamorous demands upon their resigned 
and blinking mother, now disperse over the sty, 
grunting, squealing, quarreling and poking their 
impudent little black snouts into every nook and 
cranny. Nature commits a fatal error in denying 
them the gift of perpetual youth. Hard fate, from 
a little pig to become a big one ! Not only to 
lose day by day something of the infantine grace 
given at birth, but to develop ugliness and vice 
out of all proportion to that grace ! To embody 
in short everything that is least desirable in 
character and appearance ! 

There is an utter lack of dignity about these 
animals that makes them at times irresistibly comic. 
During one of my solitary walks I came across a 
number of piglets in a remote strawyard, that had 

125 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

evidently never seen a woman before. My appear- 
ance drove them almost crazy with alarm. They 
stampeded wildly about the yard, seeking some way 
of escape, and squeaking to the full power of their 
lungs. Finally, unable to sustain longer the fear- 
some sight, they buried their heads in the straw, 
leaving their hindquarters to view, agitated by 
convulsive tremors. I afterwards paid them a 
second visit, hoping to produce a similar sensation ; 
by this time, however, their fear of woman had 
somewhat abated, and they indulged in none of 
their former delightful antics. Their yard was 
overrun by rats that, unlike the pigs, emerged from 
their shelters and went about their business quite 
regardless of my presence, two engaging in an 
obstinate fight which left one of the combatants torn 
and bleeding. Sad havoc had they wrought in 
the adjacent stacks, which were riddled with large 
holes, the thatch being literally ploughed up. Yet 
the men say rats are less mischievous than mice, 
for the latter, not content with merely satisfying 
their hunger, waste and destroy the grain that they 
cannot eat. A week or two after my visit to the 
solitary strawyard a rat hunt was organized in which 
1 20 were killed. "'Twur just about a fine bit o' 
fun," quoth one of the sportsmen. " Us wur sheenin' 
up ther an' saw the rats a-cuttin' about the place 
same a-sif he belonged to they ; so us got some 
wire-nettin', fixed 'un round the ricks, druv 'urn all 
up into a earner, and went in among 'urn wi' sticks. 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Us killed 'urn right an' left." The proceeding 
seemed to me to smack of coldblooded massacre, 
but I suppose vermin are considered outside the 
pale of fair play. 

" The 'oomans didn't much like it," he continued, 
" 'cause faymales, luk'ee, be alius frowtened at mice 
an' sichlike, but we men just about joyed our- 
selves, an' seeing maister 'lowed we a penny a-piece 
fur every one as we killed, us didn't do sa bad that 
arternoon." 

Some farmers, with shortsighted -economy, refuse 
to pay a trifling premium for the destruction of 
these mischievous creatures ; when this is the case 
the labourers' zeal is apt to slacken. " Let 'un 
goo, he be on'y a water rat," they will say (in 
allusion not to the animal's species, but the fact that 
its death will help them to nothing stronger than 
water !) when they see one about the premises of 
a niggardly employer. Battues like that described, 
occur, as a rule, when the rats' strongholds are in 
course of demolition to feed the thrashing machine, 
the farm hands gladly availing themselves of the 
opportunity for legitimate, not to say profitable 
sport, afforded by the intervals of dinner and 
"nunchin," or "doobit." Lest the two last terms 
cause the uninitiated some perplexity, I may 
explain that they are the local names by which 
are known the bite and sup taken during the short 
rest between six o'clock breakfast and noonday 
dinner, and again in the course of the afternoon. 

127 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" Sheening," though a thirsty employment, is not 
unpopular. It is a variation of the ordinary farm 
routine ; it means increased pay always, extra beer 
sometimes ; and besides the excitement of mice and 
rat hunts, it offers exceptional facilities for the inter- 
change of gossip. Both sexes are represented, 
and as the workpeople are occupied within a small 
area, items of local interest, scraps of scandal, 
opinions on men and manners can be shouted across 
from the diminishing wheat rick to its rising straw 
companion, and up from the engine to the box, 
while the work goes merrily forward to the machine's 
droning song. 

What a pleasant sound is that song ! Heard on 
a still autumn day when the sunshine is sleeping on 
the hills, and the trees have doffed their green 
robes for russet garb or golden, it tunes its note 
to the pensive landscape and floats in melancholy 
cadence over the deserted fields — stripped to supply 
the burden of the music. In the sweet springtide, 
when the world is wakening to new life, it seems 
to hum more cheerily and to echo the promise 
given when time was young, that while the earth 
remaineth, seedtime and harvest, summer and winter 
shall not fail. 

Thrashing by hand, though for some years out 
of date, is now coming into fashion again : so at 
least I was told as I stood watching two of Farmer 
Pinmarsh's men wielding their flails opposite each 
other, on the boarded space between the doors 

128 




OLD BARNS AND PIG-STYES. 



129 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

of the "tithe barn." They stayed their rhythmic 
swing to explain that "a smart few maisters has 
bee-uns flailed nowadays, 'cause if they be put 
through the machine the straw gets that bruk about, 
it ben't o' much use on fur the ship." They begged 
me politely, to try my skill with the flail, assur- 
ing me that it was "easy anuff to do when 
onst arra-one wur usted to 't." I declined the 
offer, being mindful of an evil reputation this agri- 
cultural instrument enjoys for flying round and 
dealine the amateur thrasher a shrewd and unex- 
pected crack upon the head. The barn in which 
the two men were working was that wherein the 
parson used formerly to store his tithe (hence its 
name) when this was paid in kind. There is a 
story current in the village that a certain woman — 
the mother of nine — heard of the rector's claim 
to a tenth part of the livestock, and on the arrival 
of her next infant she promptly had it conveyed to 
the parsonage as her contribution to his income ! 
Seeing however that she refused to tithe aught more 
profitable than her own children, the baby was re- 
turned. In another case the clergyman actually did 
adopt the tenth child of a parishioner, and brought 
up and educated the boy at his own expense. 

The " tithe barn " is a noble building, long and 
lofty, having two sets of double doors that project 
like a porch, and a high-pitched timbered roof. 
These great barns are a feature of the district, and 
were built for the storage of the corn which is grown 

131 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

about here so largely. The majority are made of 
tarred or painted planks overlapping one another, 
and are provided with wide entrances capable of 
admitting a loaded wagon or the box of a thrashing 
machine. Opposite these doors are others giving 
access to the farmyard, and between them is a 
stretch of boarded floor — the rest of the barn being 
paved with bricks — where thrashing by flail, win- 
nowing and chaff cutting are carried on. The two 
last employments are particularly distasteful to the 
men. Winnowing necessitates a draught and is 
regarded as an infallible recipe for the acquisition 
of colds, " the rheumatiz," " brantitus," and other 
kindred evils. Chaff cutting, though not attended 
by this disadvantage, is laborious work, involving 
a heavy strain on certain muscles. Despite the 
fact that it often means higher pay, good wives 
begin to feel aggrieved and to talk of the injury to 
their husbands' health if the latter are kept at it 
longer than three months running, and soldier sons 
write home from abroad — as I have read — to say : 
" I was very glad to hear that father don't go 
to chaff cutting now, for it is very hard work and 
tirding, and I shold be very glad if I was 'im." 

When any local or national festivity takes place 
a barn is swept, its usual contents are thrust out of 
sight, and the walls and wooden pillars supporting 
the roof are decorated with evergreens. At Whit- 
suntide, during the feast a rustic dance is held here, 
at which young and old foot it on the boarded 

132 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

floor. The music is supplied by native talent, and 
consists of a dulcimer, a concertina, and a flute or 
violin whose quaint tinkle-tankle adds to the 
archaic character of the proceeding. Youth and 
age at such times appear to reverse their parts, for 
while the passing generation plunges recklessly 
" down the middle and up again," amid racy com- 
ment and jovial laughter, the children trip through 
the barn dance with a gravity that matches their 
grace, and young men and maidens perform the 
redovva together wearing an air of solemnity which 
would become a funeral. A certain rigorous eti- 
quette prevails at these functions : it would be con- 
sidered the height of impropriety for a girl to take 
her partner's arm, but the latter would be deemed 
singularly lacking in gallantry if he relinquished his 
clasp of her waist during a pause in the dance 
A stranger from another sphere of life, having 
strayed into a gathering like that I am describing, 
transgressed this code of manners, and to his amaze, 
ment found his conduct regarded as a deliberate 
insult and his arm indignantly refused by outraged 
modesty. 

In some villages it is the custom to bring the 
feast week to a close by a second dance on the last 
evening : this, in local phraseology, is styled " pin- 
ning up " the feast, and the process attracts many 
visitors from the surrounding villages. I have been 
often told that Mary or Em'ly Jane is gone to " pin up 
the feast " at such and such a place ; and much 

133 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

perplexed I was at first by this mysterious 
expression. 

For a harvest supper, tables are set down the 
length of the barn and all the hands on the farm, 
together with their wives, are invited. The repast, 
in which beef and mutton, bread and cheese and 
beer, figure on an ample scale, is of course the main 
feature of the entertainment ; when this important 
and lengthy business has been discussed, the lighter 
items on the programme follow. Pipes are lighted, 
glasses replenished, speeches and songs are delivered. 
I say " delivered " advisedly in connection with the 
latter, which are, for the most part, ancient ditties, 
scarce fit for repetition here, treating of the follies 
and sorrows of too-confiding village maidens. They 
number from ten to a dozen verses, supplemented 
by a chorus in which the women join unabashed, 
and are trolled forth by the singer with a serious- 
ness of demeanour suggestive of anything rather 
than mirth. 

Harvest-homes unhappily have almost gone out 
of fashion, many farmers preferring to give their 
men an extra half-crown in lieu of a supper. The 
people regret the change and say that " us poor 
folks helps to gather in the earn, an' it 'ud sim moor 
like joyin' overt all together if the guvnor 'ud sit 
down wi' us an' have a jolly evening like 'urn usted 
to do." 

It cannot be doubted that these social gatherings 
help to promote good relations between master and 

134 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

man, if only by the gratification they afford the 
latter, who regards them as a recognition of the 
share he has borne in sowing, reaping, and garnering 
the fruits of the earth. 




135 



Chapter IX 

THE majority of the older farm buildings 
are roofed with thatch, which is always pic- 
turesque, both when it shines in the freshness of 
new straw, and when age has adorned its dulled 
surface with cushions of bright green or golden- 
brown moss. Though building byelaws intervene, 
and this form of covering for houses and mud 
walls be forbidden, the art of thatching will survive 
while its services are required by hay and wheat 
ricks. The thatcher, as a skilled labourer, one 
moreover who must needs employ a woman or 
boy to aid him in his work, is a person of some 
importance among our little community. Nor was 
his consequence abated by a visit he lately paid 
to a neighbouring county which, unable presum- 
ably to supply its own needs in this respect, was 
obliged to have recourse to the Berkshire village or 
suffer leaking roofs. Giles was absent a few weeks 
from his native air ; on his return he declared that 
he had just about " joyed hisself," but that he did 
not think " much o' them parts down yonder, and 

136 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

that he 'udn't ha' bid ther' altergither not fur 
whativer." 

He lives almost opposite the Pinmarshes' farm, in 
one of two cottages which stand back from the 
street and are separated from each other by a low 
privet hedge. A brother and sister named Hatton 
occupied at one time the companion house ; indeed, 
the brother lives there still, but under circumstances 
rather different from those of former days. It was 
during the spring preceding the last Jubilee year, 
that an event occurred to change the current of his 
life, till then so tranquil. Several months elapsed 
ere his sister learnt the nature of the disturbing 
element, but that something was wrong with Levi, 
his restlessness, his preoccupied manner and above 
all, the extraordinary falling off in his appetite, 
plainly showed. This last symptom gave Leah 
serious ground for anxiety. "Picks his food a do, 
like a sick hen — him that were alius sa spry wi' his 
knife an' fork an' ate up his vittels sa sweet," said 
she, when discussing the matter with the thatcher 
over the hedge already mentioned. 

" Mebbe he've got a touch o' this year naesty 
infooenzy as be about : he did ought to see the 
doctor an' goo on the club fur a spell," counselled 
the latter, which well meant advice was the last 
Levi intended to follow. He was quite aware of 
the hopelessness of his malady ; he knew the very 
day and hour when first it laid its grip upon him, 
and had he at this time been capable of merriment, 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

he would have laughed in his sleeve at the notion 
that doctor's stuff would avail in a case like his. 

The trouble arose through an umbrella — thus are 
momentous results ofttimes the work of insignificant 
factors. Not that this could, strictly speaking, be 
called insignificant, either as regarded size or hue, 
its capacity for shelter being vast, its tint a wondrous 
shade of peacock-blue, produced by the united efforts 
of sun and rain upon the original colour. The 
umbrella, owing to the persistence with which Leah 
thrust its company upon him whenever there hap- 
pened to be a cloud in the sky, was one of the 
burdens of Levi's life; the other was his sister's 
inability to realize the fact that he had left boy- 
hood some distance behind. Leah who was many 
years his senior, had brought him up from birth, 
and still " did " for him ; he was now five and 
twenty, but she treated him as if he were five, 
scolding him, exacting implicit obedience, fussing 
over his health in season and out, until the bond 
of awe and affection which held him to her, was 
strained almost to snapping. Had she confined her 
attentions to the privacy of their own hearth, he 
would have found them less irksome. When it 
came, however, to her leaving the dinner to cook 
itself one showery Sunday morning, in order that 
she might pursue him into church with great-coat 
and umbrella, thus exposing him to the ridicule of 
the congregation and herself to the wrath of the 
parson for disturbing the service, such solicitude 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

was more than masculine flesh and blood could bear. 
The affair caused a distinct coolness between 
brother and sister. Levi even ventured to show 
signs of revolt, and though Leah fondly believed she 
had extinguished the feeble spark, it smouldered 
within to gather fresh force and break out later. 

April was full young and uncertain, spoilt child 
that she was, whether to smile or sulk, when Levi 
one morning sat eating his " nunchin' " on the raised 
chalk path which ran like a white ribbon athwart 
the brown upland. A fragrant steam — " the smell 
of a field that the Lord hath blessed " — arose from 
the newly turned earth. Over wide fallow and green 
stretches of corn, a wind with a memory of March 
in its crispness, was blowing, ruffling thickened 
buds and rioting among great fleecy clouds which 
raced like flying snowdrifts across the pure azure, 
and cast swift shadows on the distant slopes 
of the downs. Here and there, fitful gleams of 
sunlight quickened the woods from purple to gold, 
and stealing between the tree-trunks, kissed the shy 
flowers which were beginning to peep from the 
leaves shaken over them last autumn by friendly 
boughs. All things, from the ringdove cooing 
among the ragged firs of the parson's garden, to the 
primrose beside the brook, spoke of youth and hope, 
of love and life ; and over Levi also, spring cast her 
magic spell. A vague discontent with his present 
uncoloured existence, a craving after he knew not 
what, stirred within him as he gazed at the long 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

straight furrows which the plough had cleft under 
his hand. 

" All on 'um alike ; no moor diff'rence betwixt 
to-day an 'issterday than ther' be betwixt the last 
furrow I druv an' the one I be gwine to drive," he 
muttered ; " an' termorrow, I s'pwose, 'ull be just 
the same." 

Alas for his prognostications ! when next he sat 
eating his lunch on the bank, the world wore a 
wholly changed aspect. I have already spoken of 
the path across the fields ; it led from the village to 
Cateswick, and though it was shorter by nearly a 
mile than the Turnpike, the latter, where mothers 
hung round with parcels and small children, ran a 
chance of securing a lift in wagon or cart, was the 
more popular route. When, on this particular 
morning, a strange voice accosted Levi, it was 
sufficient of an event to cause him to drop his 
clasp-knife in surprise. 

" Bags your pardon, miss, but what did 'ee say ? " 
he inquired, recovering his knife, but losing his wits 
as he found himself confronted by a girl in a fresh 
cotton frock, with a coquettish knot of pink ribbon 
at her throat. 

" Is this the way to Cateswick ? " she repeated. 

Levi stared hard at her before replying. She 
was undoubtedly pretty, and there was a saucy glint 
in her eye which reminded him of the young green 
corn when it is playing in the sunshine with the 
breeze. 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" Oo, aye,'' he answered at length, "you can get 
to Cateswick by this year road, but 'tis a fairish 
twisty 'un, an' easy to lose." 

" How far is it ? " 

" It med be three mile or it med be a bit furder." 

"Three miles! I shall never walk so far. See, 
it's going to rain, too." 

" That's like anuff," he agreed, casting a weather- 
wise look at a black cloud which was hurrying 
towards them from the south-west. 

" Oh, dear, it's beginning already ! " cried she, as 
a swollen drop fell on her hand. " I must go to the 
town to fetch my aunt's medicine, and I shall be wet 
through in this thin frock. What shall I do ? " 

" Bide under my umbereller till the shower 's past," 
suggested Levi with a flash of inspiration, as he 
unfurled the hated object which Leah had tied to 
his basket that morning. The girl glanced doubt- 
fully from the snug shelter beneath the bank to the 
overcast sky, but a quick patter of rain decided her 
to accept his offer together with a corner of his over- 
coat which he had spread for a cushion. 

" You'll be drowned there ; come under the 
umbrella," she said, as he seated himself bashfully at 
a distance, and he obeyed, uncertain whether pleasure 
or embarrassment were his predominant sensation. 

For some moments the two sat side by side in 
silence, warm and dry, while the patient plough 
horses stood with drooping heads and depressed 
ears, facing the shower. Then, 

141 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

"I reckon you be a stranger in these year parts?" 
hazarded Levi, curiosity conquering shyness. 

" Yes, I've never been here afore." 

" An' wher med you be staying, miss, if I med 
mek' sa bold ? " 




THE BLUE UMBRELLA. 



" With my aunt, yonder " ; she nodded her head 
in the direction of the village. 

" What did 'ee say as your aunt wur called ? " 

She peeped roguishly at him, but answered in 
demure tones, " I don't remember that I mentioned 
her name." 

" Oh ! " He shrank into silence a^ain, wondering 
why her mischievous eyes affected him so strangely. 

142 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

It was now her turn to investigate. " I suppose 
you live yonder ? " she asked. 

"Aye, I've bid ther' ever sence I wur' barned : no 
doubt but what I shall die ther' when my time 
comes, pl'ase God." 

" Was your wife born there, too ? " 

This innocent question reduced the young - man to 
a state of pitiable confusion. 

" I ha'n't got narra missus," he stammered. 

" P'raps you don't care for such silly things as 
girls ?" 

" I've never thought much about 'urn ; Leah be 
the on'y ooman as I've had much to do wi'," he 
replied in all simplicity. 

His sister's name led to fresh interrogatories on 
the part of the winsome stranger, and before the 
shower ceased and the sun shone once more, she 
had gleaned all the details of his family history — 
how his mother had died at his birth within a few 
weeks of her husband ; how Leah had toiled and 
scraped to support herself and the child, as well as 
to provide him with a little " schoolin' " ; how her 
temper was " a bit werryin' now an' agen, but I 
must put up wi't, 'ee knaw, seein' what she ha' 
done fur ma." 

" We've all on us to put up with something," 
remarked the girl with an air of profound philosophy, 
as she rose to continue her walk. " Thank you 
kindly for the shelter, Mr. Hatton, an' I wish you 
good day." 

143 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" The weather looks wunnerful catchy ; ther' 'ull 
be moor rain by'n-bye. You'd best tek the um- 
bereller wi' you," he said, clutching at an excuse to 
renew the acquaintanceship, for he was quite sure of 
his feelings by this time. 

" If you can spare it, I shall be much obliged. I 
shan't be gone long, an' seein' you'll be at work till 
nearly three o'clock, I reckon you'll be here when I 
come back this way. Good-bye," and she tripped 
along the path, while he returned to his plough, 
marvelling in his simple soul how one short hour 
ago he could have found the world so dull. He 
whistled while he drove his furrows — not quite so 
straight and even as before — and when the rain 
which he had predicted, drove in his face, he only 
laughed and blessed the blue umbrella. 

This lightsome mood, however, was but of short 
duration ; it gave place to anxious perplexity when 
three o'clock brought no sign of his new friend. 
Reluctantly he tore himself from the fields, stabled 
his horses, and sought his home where dinner, cooked 
by Leah's careful hands, awaited him. During the 
remainder of the day he waited with eagerness, not 
free from trepidation, for a knock on the door, for a 
voice which he desired above all things to hear 
again ; but he listened to no purpose, and it was 
little sleep he obtained that night. The loss of the 
blue umbrella also weighed on his mind : or to be 
more accurate, the explanation of its loss. How 
could he confess to Leah that he had lent a posses- 

144 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

sion by which she set such store, to a stranger — a 
girl of whose very name he was ignorant ? And he 
cursed the blue umbrella which had placed him in 
this predicament. 

Of course the next morning was wet ; that was 
only to be expected. " Things alius do go con- 
trary," he muttered, adding aloud, " Never mind 
the umbereller, Leah; I'll fetch he and tie 'un to the 
baskut." 

She was not to be put off in this manner. 
" What did 'ee do wi' 'un 'issterday ? " she inquired, 
" ten't in the earner wher' a mos'n gen'ly stands." 

" Dang the umbereller ! " he cried, driven to bay, 
and resolved to carry the matter with a high hand. 
" I lost 'un, if you be saset on knawin'. He be lost, 
that's wher' a be." 

" Lost ! I'll lose you if sa be as you dwun't find 
un ao-en ! " 

" 'Tis your fault ; I didn't want the darned thing, 
but you 'ud mek ma tek 'un, an' how be I to see 
who goos along the path when half the time my 
back be turned ? 'Tis all your doin', so you needn't 
to grizzle at ma, fur I wun't stan' it no longer," and 
he marched out of the house, leaving his sister con- 
founded by this unexpected turning of the docile 
worm. It was after the incident just narrated, that 
Levi began to exhibit the symptoms already 
described. 

" I can't think what ails the bwoy," said Leah, 
when pouring out her troubles to the thatcher 

145 K 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

across the hedge, " he ha'n't never bin the same 
sence the day the umbereller wur lost. You dwun't 
think as he be frettin' overt, do 'ee ? " 

The other, thus appealed to, rubbed his head 
reflectively. " It med be the hinfooenzy, as I telled 
'ee afoor ; or it med be — I dwun't goo fur to say as 
'tis — but it med be as he be a-pinin' arter a young 
ooman. I've bin a married man meself, and I 
knows the feelin' " 

" Goo alang wi' 'ee ! Our Leve's never thinked 
sich a thought. You 'ull be sayin' as I'm pinin' 
arter a young man next." 

" Mebbe you be, an' mebbe you ben't," was his 
cautious rejoinder, " but if he teks a missus, you 
'ull be fur turnin' out, I reckon ? " 

" Never ! " she cried, " never! Wher' he bides, I 
bide. I'd like to see the ooman as 'ud get me out 
o' my house." 

" Mebbe a man 'ud do that job easier," quoth the 
thatcher, with a wink of unutterable meaning which 
she was at a loss to fathom. 

A week passed, bringing Levi neither news 
of his missing property nor relief from his uneasy 
feelings. He was jogging homeward from the 
fields one day, seated sideways on one of his horses, 
when he heard his name called, and slipping to the 
ground he saw a trim figure, weighted with a large 
umbrella, running towards him. 

" I saw you pass the house," panted the girl. 
"I'm very sorry, but I lost my way that day, an' I 

146 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

got wet, so that I've had a to stop indoors ever 

since with a cold ; thank you for lendin' me " 

She faltered and paused as she met the young man's 
ardent gaze. 

" I've looked every wheres for you, but I niver 
thought o' you stayin' in yon lone house." 

" Did you think I had run oft with this ? " she 
asked, laughing up into his face with the saucy look 
which stirred his pulses and made him catch his 
breath. 

" That old rubbish ! Bless 'ee, I niver gin no- 
think a thought 'cept you. So you're bidin' wi' 
Susan Prewett ? " 

" Yes, she is my aunt ; she has been ill, an' I 
came to nurse her. I must go back now ; please 
take your umbrella." 

" No, you must kip he, 'cause, look 'ee, I telled 
my sister he wur lost, an' 'twud be a deal better fur 
me if 'twurn't never found a^en. Will 'ee tek 'un 
home, miss, just to pleasure ma ? 

The pleading in his voice was hard to resist, 
seconded as it was by the eloquence of his eyes. 
" I shall feel a thief if I keep it," said she, " but I 
will consider the matter over, an', if you like to 
step up some evenin', Mr. Hatton, I'll let you 
know what I think about it." 

" You med tell ma your name," and he caught at 
her hand as she turned to leave him ; " you med 
tell ma your name, so that I shall knaw what to call 
you to myself." 

147 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" Mary — Polly — Flowers," she cried, speeding up 
the lane towards her aunt's house, while Levi 
started to catch his team that were making a bee 
line across country for their stables. 

The first visit to the lone cottage was followed 
by a second and a third, until the young man and the 
maiden lost count of them. All through the " magic 
of May," and June's golden evenings, they paced 
the soft lanes together, jealously guarding their 
secret from the world without, and, it must be con- 
fessed, from Leah in particular. 

Between hay-time and harvest, however, an un- 
toward incident occurred, and again the blue um- 
brella was the disturbing agent. It happened that 
Giles was employed in thatching some hay ricks not 
far from Susan Prewett's house, and there being no 
other water available in which to soak his sprays, he 
appeared one day at her open kitchen door to ask 
if he might supply himself from her well. While he 
stood waiting for some one to answer his knock, his 
eye was caught by a familiar object, which, it being 
well within his reach, he examined at close quarters 
to make certain that it was no counterfeit. The 
same evening he informed Leah of the whereabouts 
of her missing treasure. The latter's indignation 
and surprise knew no bounds, although to be sure 
she always did say "that folks as kep' theirselves to 
theirselves, an' lived in lone cottages, mos'n gen'ly 
had a good reason fur so doin'." 

Early the following morning she too paid Susan 

148 




'MfV ,» 



THE MAGIC OF MAY. 



149 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Prewett a visit, with the result of which she regaled 
Levi during his dinner. So absorbed was she by 
her story, that she failed to note the anger gathering 
in his eyes. The stony silence he maintained, his 
abrupt manner of quitting the house when he had 
finished his meal, above all his prolonged absence 
that evening, shook her self-complacency and in- 
stilled a disquieting doubt that there might possibly 
be some truth in the version Polly Flowers and her 
aunt had given of the affair. 

For the first time in her life Leah found herself 
dreading her brother's return ; for the first time since 
she had taken him, a tiny infant, from her dying 
mother's arms, she shrank before his gaze, as he 
paused on his way upstairs to give expression to 
some of the bitterness which consumed him. 

" 'Tis to be hoped as you're satisfite wi' your 
work," he said; " I've walked wi' Polly these three 
months, an' we was both on us as happy as two 
birds on one bough, but you've come betwixt us, an' 
she can't have no moor to doin' wi' me, she sez." 

" Why didn't 'ee tell ma you'd gin she the um- 
bereller, an' that you wur keepin' comp'ny to- 
gether ? " 

" 'Cause, God furgie ma, I wur afeared on 'ee, 
Leah ; but you couldn't ha' done moor mishtiff if I'd 
a-telled 'ee every think at the first, than you ha' done 
to-day." 

The quiet words, the tone in which they were 
uttered, indicating a trouble too deep for recrimin- 

151 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

ation, moved the hearer as the most passionate 
reproaches would have failed to do. Womanlike, 
she cast about for a victim on whom to vent the 
anger she felt against herself, and bethinking her 
of the thatcher's share in the business, she selected 
him as being near at hand and eminently suitable. 

Not wishing either to afford entertainment to the 
neighbours, or a chance of retreat indoors to her 
adversary, she declined to engage him across the 
hedge, but called him into her own kitchen, where 
she had him at an advantage. Now, Giles, being a 
" widow man," had acquired some experience of 
what he termed " faymale hurning natur'," and 
he was of opinion that if you only allowed "an 
ooman to blow her steam off long anuff, she 'ull 
get rid on't in time, an' what's left on her 'ull be 
as harmless as a truss o' straw." He applied his 
theory with excellent results on the present 
occasion, and sat serenely smoking his pipe while 
Leah "upset" him, removing it from time to 
time in order to ask whether she had "done yet." 

" Sims to me," he began, when at length she 
ceased rather through lack of breath than of 
words — " sims to me as you med a mess on't 
altergether. Why couldn't 'ee ha' gone quiet an' 
civil to Susan who be a decent sort o' ooman, 
an' said you'd yeard she'd found your umbereller 
what wur lost ? You wurn't obbligated to believe 
her story till you'd axed Levee if 'twur true, an' 
what's moor, you wurn't obbligated to call she an' 

152 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Polly liars an' thieves. But ther, you fay males 
be sich chattermags ! " 

Leah's heart sank lower than before. Even the 
thatcher condemned her. 

"What be I to do?" she sobbed. "Levee 
wun't spake to ma, an' goos to public every night 
o' his life. It 'ull break my heart, it 'ull, if that 
bwoy teks to drink." 

"Aye, an' all along o' you," put in the other 
remorselessly. 

" Oh ! whativer can I do ? He looks that 
mis'rubble I can't a-be'r to see un ! " 

" Goo to the gal an' say 'twur all a mistek, an' 
as how you'd tek it very kind o' she to kip comp'ny 
agen wi' Levee," suggested her adviser, watching 
through his half- closed lids the effect of this 
bitter pill. 

" Niver ! niver ! " she cried. " I ben't agwine 
down on my knees to a chit like she." 

" No, you'll let Levee goo to the devil instead," 
returned Giles dryly as he took his leave. 

Despite the thatcher's apparent failure, his 
counsel stuck fast by Leah. For several months 
love and pride wrestled together within her bosom, 
but the sight of her nursling sinking daily deeper 
in the mire of evil habits stung her to action. 
Armed with the fateful umbrella, she sallied forth 
one tempestuous November day — for her decision 
once made, neither wind nor rain would stop her 
carrying it out as soon as possible — and was blown 

153 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

up the lane to the lone cottage which stood a 
mile or more from the village. Great was Susan 
Prewett's surprise to behold her visitor. 

" Come in, come in, you must be through wet," 
she exclaimed, forgetting past insults, perhaps even 
guessing at the nature of the errand which had 
brought Levi's sister there in such weather. 

Leah's carefully prepared speech died on her 
lips when she found herself thus welcomed, 
relieved of her soaked outer garments, and placed 
in the armchair near the fire with a cup of hot 
tea on the table beside her. She could only 
stammer between her tears fragments of sorrow 
and regret, which were more effective than a formal 
apology. 

" My niece went home before harvest," said 
Susan in answer to the other's humble request; 
" she was too unhappy to bide in these parts 
any longer. I'll write an' give her your message, 
but it must be for her to decide, an' if I was you, I 
wouldn't mention it to your brother till you knows 
her mind. She's dearly fond o' him, but young 
girls ha' got their pride, an' sometimes that proves 
stronger nor their love." 

" Tell her I'll try to be a kind sister to her an' 
not werry her as I've a-werried Levee," was Leah's 
parting remark as she stepped into the darkness 
of the autumn evening. On emerging from the 
shelter afforded by Susan's garden, the full force 
of the blast smote her and sent her staggering 

154 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

against the bank. She struggled on a few yards, 
only to be met by a second gust that buffeted 
her hither and thither, and after several futile 
attempts to wrench the umbrella from her hands, 
turned it, by way of revenge, inside out. The 
rain which smote her face like whipcord, the 
raging storm, the loneliness and gloom filled 
Leah's brave soul with dismay. 

" Oh, lark ! oh, lark ! howiver shall I get home ? " 
she cried ; and out of the darkness came the 
answer in the thatcher's well known accents. 

" Catch howldt o' me, I'll look arter 'ee." 

No sound could have been sweeter at that 
moment to her ears. 

" Wher' be ? " she asked, groping for him. 

" Year, close to 'ee. So th' old umbereller's 
blowed wrong side out, be 'un ? That's soon 
put right, luk 'ee ; an' now you an' me can walk 
under 'un as snug as two bees in one flower." 

" How did 'ee know 'twur me ? " inquired Leah, 
presently. 

" Cause I sin 'ee come out o' the cottage. 
Thinks I, 'She 'ull never stand agenst this wind,' 
so I just bid a minute to wait fur 'ee." 

" Thank 'ee kindly, thatcher," said the middle- 
aged spinster, who was enjoying a novel sensation 
in being thus cared for. 

" Aye, I sin 'ee come out o' the cottage, an' I 
wurn't a mossel surprised. I alius knawed as 
you'd a rale good heart under your werryin' 

155 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

tongue." To which curious piece of anatomical 
information she vouchsafed no reply save to cling 
a trifle closer to the stalwart arm that sup- 
ported her. 

" Now, dwun't 'ee furget," continued Giles, " that 
when they young folkses gets wed, ther 'ull be 
a place nex' dooer ready fur you, my dear, if sa 
be as you keers to tek 'un." 

Leah's self-abasement was not in vain. Levi 
coming home moody and sullen to dinner one 
afternoon a week later, found his little sweetheart 
sitting by the fire, while his sister, her eyes blinded 
by tears, bent over the wash-tub in the " back- 
place." 






156 



Chapter X 

THE village church lies beyond the Pinmarsh's 
house, in a green hollow set about with the 
chestnuts, elms and beeches of the parson's meadow, 
and bounded by the brook. The little grey fane, 
with its red-tiled chancel, leaded nave, and short 
square tower stands on the site of a wooden Saxon 
chapel, which bequeathed to its successor two 
ancient benches worn smooth by generations ot 
worshippers, and still in use. 

The kernel of the present edifice to which the 
various stages of church architecture, from Norman 
to Perpendicular, contributed their share, was built 
" of stone," as the document sets forth in dog 
Latin, by a knight named William, who having 
performed this pious work quarrelled with the 
chaplain about the order of the services in quite 
present-day fashion. Then, as now, the dispute was 
referred to the Bishop of the diocese who settled 
it doubtless to the best of his ability ; whether to 
the priest's or to the warrior's satisfaction history 
does not relate — probably to that of neither ! 

157 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Since its final completion the structure seems to 
have enjoyed a tranquil career, untouched by fire, 




1 PARSON. 



tempest, or aught ruder than the sacrilegious hands 
of some misguided Parliamentarians, who struck oft 

158 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the crosses with which the roof of nave and chancel 
terminated. 

It is a humble little sanctuary, but its small beams 
of charity have gone forth beyond the seas, to 
help to lighten some of earth's dark places. The 
Parish accounts, kept since the year 1603 with 
minute detail, show many such entries as the follow- 
ing : " Given to the French Protestants, three 
pounds and seven shillings " — a considerable sum in 
those days to be raised by such a small village. 

" Given to y e Poor Protestants forced from the 
Principality of Orange the 24th of April, 1704, 
£"1-12-5." Again, " Given by the Parish for the 
relief of y e Protestants in Great Poland, ,£1-3-11." 
One entry is of grim significance : " Collected in 

the Parish of in the County of Berks for the 

Redemption of English Christians taken by the 
Turks." A long list of donations follows, ranging 
from ten shillings to fourpence — this last contributed 
by " Widow Kimber and her son " — and amount- 
ing to the sum total of £"2-5-2. 

A second collection was made for the " Captives 
in Turkey," who, with the Protestants abroad, seem 
to have peculiarly touched the hearts of the dwellers 
in our remote English village. 

In October, 1666, "thirty-three shillings was 
collected for the relief of those Persons who have 
bin grt sufforers by the late sad Fire within the 
City of London," the gift being duly acknowledged 
by the " Lord Major " (!), whose duties appear, 

i59 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

even in those days to have included the raising of 
Funds. It will be observed that the parish account- 
ant's spelling and grammar are somewhat original. 

Twelve years later the village, in compliance 
with a brief, sent their humble offering of i $s. 6d. 
to help swell the stream of charity by means of 
which the new " Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Lon- 
don," was raised from its predecessor's ashes, this 
item being one among many similar grants to 
churches needing pecuniary aid. Some of the 
collections, like the last, were under briefs ; others, 
however, were purely voluntary, the villagers giving 
"graciously," as they themselves would call it, out 
of their poverty. Although in material things, their 
descendants have made progress since the days 
when the cry of the captives went up to heaven, 
along the path of charity they have, I fear, advanced 
but little. 

Time which brings in its train such changes as 
Parish Councils, steam-rollers, and other kindred 
boons, while sparing the fabric of the church, has 
worked its will upon the interior. Square pews 
where " a body med sleep comfer'ble wi'out all 
the par'sh knawin' on't," have been swept away 
to make room for more public and less sleep-induc- 
ing seats ; whitewashed walls have been coloured, 
ceilings removed, and various other modest orna- 
ments and improvements introduced. 

Some of these caused at first grave doubts in the 
minds of the people : the reredos, erected to conceal a 

1 60 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

strip of bare wall beneath the east window and suf- 
ficiently devoid of artistic merit to have satisfied the 
most rigorous Protestant, was particularly obnoxious ; 
the characters Alpha and Omega, together with the 
unobtrusive cross with which it was adorned, beino- 
regarded as Popish symbols that had no part nor 
place in " our religion." The substitution of a heat- 
ing apparatus for stoves with long black chimneys 
that soared upward to the roof, was also viewed 
unfavourably, owing to the predilection pipes are 
known to entertain for bursting at ill-considered 
moments. On one occasion they seemed likely to 
vindicate this view of their character. It was 
during a severe frost, and the pipes, not having 
been completely emptied before the cold came on, 
still contained a small quantity of water. This froze, 
so that when the warm water began to circulate, the 
ice gave way with loud cracks like pistol shots, 
and a fearful joy was to be seen depicted on the 
faces of the prophets of evil. They "knawed how 
'twud be all along, bless 'ee ; a-coorse them pipes 
'ull bust — pipeses alius do — an' they 'ull blow up 
theirselves, an' the church, an' iverybody in't." 
They only wished that they had " bid away from 
sarvist" that morning, it being a cruel fate which 
compels one to share the ills one had predicted for 
others. 

The danger passed, and not having recurred, the 
parish is now of opinion that "'eatin' that ther' 
church be the best thing parson have a-done to 

161 l 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

it sence a come year" — an odd sounding sentiment 
enough. 

The innovation that aroused the deepest dis- 
approval was the institution of a harvest festival, 
which was "'anuft to mek th' ole parson turn in his 
grave, 'urn wur. What do us want wi' a festival, 
then ? Han't us alius had the harvest afoor, wi'out 
sich foolishniss as a thanksgivin' ? " Dressing up the 
church with flowers and corn forsooth ! 

" Us ha' got nothen to say agen a bit o' holly 
stuck in the pews at Chris'mas time ; that be on'y 
nat'ral an' seasonable-like ; but this year be a-turnin' 
the place into a whee-ut field an' a garden, full an' 
wholly." Yet such is the inconsistency of man, 
that in these latter days the once reprobated service 
is the favourite of the year, the sole occasion when 
farm-hands are not ashamed to come in their work- 
ing garb ; when malcontents lay aside their differ- 
ences, and appear within the walls of the sacred 
edifice. Fruit, flowers and vegetables are freely 
given by the people, and much interest is taken in 
the decorations, where ingenuity sometimes outstrips 
beauty. I remember seeing in a village church the 
model of a wheat rick ; it was made of corn, was 
thatched and surrounded by a miniature railing 
which was completed with a tiny swing-gate. The 
whole excited intense admiration, not unmingled 
with envy, in the breasts of visitors from other 
parishes that could not boast a similar work of art 
among their harvest adornments. 

162 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Modern services in country as in town are shorter 
and more numerous than formerly. To such an 
extent does the desire for " liveliness " prevail in 
these days of amusement, that the musical portion 
of the service, once a plant of modest growth, has 
now expanded until, as a rustic observed, " in a 
good few places 'urn sings the psalms, an' the lessons, 
an' the prayers, an' most everythink, 'ceptin' 'tis the 
sarmint ; mebbe afoor long, they 'ull sing he, too." 
Unhappily in too many cases singing is synonymous 
with noise rather than with music ; this however 
adds to instead of detracting from the pleasure of 
assisting in its creation. The harmonium has been 
replaced by an organ, the playing of which is keenly 
criticized by the congregation. " He do mek 'un 
sound out strong an loud ; us can year he right up 
strit," is high commendation; but "he just about 
punishes that ther' orgin, an' chucks his 'ands 
about ! " is infinitely higher. An indifferent per- 
former is dismissed with the scathing criticism that 
" he plays all a-one-sided," while mere mediocrity is 
" nothen to mek a fuss about." 

As may be expected, the sermon comes in for a 
shrewd amount of attention from these village 
critics. Length is not so important as matter and 
delivery : these again fade into insignificance before 
the vital question of whether the discourse be 
written or extempore. 

" I can't a-be'r they sarmints as be read," remarked 
an old village dame to me ; "they ben't niver worth 

163 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

listenin' to, an' you med jest as well stan' a school- 
bwoy up in pulpit to rade un clane out of a 
book." 

The " thunder and lightning " style is not disliked 
as an occasional dose of spiritual stimulant, provo- 
cative of "shuckettins and trimbles," as old Tommy 
Dench expressed it, and of heart searchings too 
slight in character to prove inconvenient ; but for 
ordinary seasons a simple homily is preferred, 
" plain so's a chile can understand 'un, an' we old 
folks has narra mossel o' trouble to foller'n." The 
extempore sermon however, must be both lucid and 
connected, or it will draw down on the preacher 
more ridicule than a written discourse. 

" Whativer wur he a-drivin' at then ? " the people 
will say, when discussing the subject among them- 
selves, "whativer wur he a-drivin' at, dost knaw, 
thee?" 

" Bless 'ee no, an' 'tis my belief as that be moor'n 
he could tell hisself; a didn't sim to knaw wher' 
a wur gwine, nor wher' a come from. 'Twur all 
anyhow, an' text niver come in at all by what I 
could mek out. Call that a sarmint ! I calls 'un a 
kind of wanderin' chatter, that what I does." 

Occasionally, the homily happens to touch a tender 
spot, and to arouse some resentment within the 
breasts of the auditors. 

" I cassn't reemember wher' a tuk his text from, 
nor how a car'd 'un along," said a village mother ; 
" but about the middle a telled we as our childern 

164 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

wur like unto a tower o' bricks as be builded all 
the wik an' Sundays at the schoolds. Then on 
the Saturday when they bides a-twhum two or 
three o' the bricks gets pulled out, down fells the 
tower, an' has to be started a- fresh a- Monday 
marnin'. That's as much as you med say, that the 
good things what they be larned in school be swep' 
out on 'urn by their mothers an' fathers on the 
Saturday, which be the m'anin' o' pulling out the 
bricks. Rum kind o' sarmint I calls that, to say as 
we be doin' our own childern hurt ! " 

Autres temps, aulres mceurs : with the oldfashioned 
service the Sunday that matched it, is passing 
away ; working in the allotments which have passed 
from the clergyman's hands into those of the Parish 
Council, and visiting or receiving friends occupy 
a great part of the day, and leave small leisure for 
sacred things. The church which used to be full is 
now half empty, the bond of outward observance 
sitting loosely on the present generation, particularly 
after marriage. Among the working farmers there 
are some, I fear, like Tommy Dench, who attend 
with praiseworthy assiduity if any pecuniary profit 
can be made thereby ; otherwise they are too often 
conspicuous by their absence. 

Many of the labourers, taking their cue from 
their employers, come when there is nothing more 
exciting to do; others say they "cassn't think as it 
meks a lot o' diff'rence wher' arra-one sez their 
prayers an' rades their Bible — you can do 't a- 

165 



1 



RAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 




twhum just 



A STRANGER IN THE BACK PEW. 

as well as in church, by what I can see.' 
1 66 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

It is no uncommon thing - for an absentee to take 
credit to himself for abstaining entirely from divine 
service. "Well, if I dwun't goo to church, nairn 
cassn't say as I goos to chapel ! " 

To this class belong those who perform their 
religious duties by proxy, as in the case of a father 
who, though he never by any chance enters a place 
of worship from year's end to year's end, insists on 
his children being present at both services. Dire 
are the thrashings he administers to a son convicted 
of playing truant : " I knaws how childern did 
ought to be brought up, an' though I ben't much 
of a hand at church-goin' myself, I'll see as they 
has plenty. I holds by church, I does, an' wun't 
have 'um carryin' on wi' any o' they fancy ree- 
ligions." 

This last was an allusion to the Salvation Army, 
which during a year or two maintained a footing in 
the village, and as already related, held open-air 
meetings on the bridge. These for the reasons 
described, enjoyed great popularity, and those in 
the " barrack-hall " scarcely less at first. Gradually 
however, as the novelty wore off, the congregations 
fell away, and the people returned either to their 
former careless ways, or to the church's fold where, 
as a cynically-minded individual observed, " twurn't 
all take an' no give." The efforts of the Salvation 
Army were not, however, entirely thrown away. In 
one instance certainly I believe they wrought lasting 
good, and by a strange irony the only genuine con- 

167 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

vert, who has stood the test of time, is a son of the 
man mentioned above — the opponent of all " fancy 
reeligions." He reluctantly owns that "whether 'tis 
through the Salvationers or not, I cassn't say, but 
Jim be wunnerful changed sence a took up wi' they 
— niver a sarcy word do he gie me nor his mother 
now." 

Side by side with the neglect of Divine worship 
there exists in the minds of the people an almost 
superstitious belief in the efficacy of regular attend- 
ance as a means of salvation. " Wher' do I expec' 
to goo when I dies ? " exclaimed a rustic with indig- 
nant surprise when questioned as to his future hopes 
by an over-curious friend ; " wher' do I expec' to 
goo ? why to heaven a-coorse : I've niver done no- 
think as you med call wicked, an' I 'tends church 
reg'lar ! " The speaker was no hypocrite : it was 
but another case of honest belief that " All these 
things have I kept from my youth up," and he who 
first uttered those words was, we are told, loved by 
our Lord. 

Yet another reason for attendance given by the 
people, is, that though it may tarry long, yet in the 
end the evil day must come when the Church 
will claim all that is left of her sons and daughters. 
" Ah, I tells 'un he did ought to go now, fur he'll 
be fust to go, whether a likes it or not, when he be 
car'd ther'," is a remark I have often heard made 
by wives of their husbands who neglect this duty, 
and — " We must all come to 't at last, 'ee knaw," is 

1 68 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

a certainty that weighs heavily when the dulled 
conscience succeeds in making itself heard. 

Baptism is regarded as a kind of moral prophylac- 
tic — a ceremony which no self-respecting parent will 
allow his child to miss ; not only does it ensure 
Christian burial, but it safeguards the little one 
against the consequences of all the sins it may 
commit before confirmation — the one being re- 
garded almost, if not quite, as important as the 
other. 

One night in the darkness of mid-winter, a big, 
awkward plough-boy stole up to the vicarage and 
asked to see the parson. With many blushes and 
much twisting of his rough fingers, he shamefacedly 
explained that he wished to be baptized, his mother 
had " never had it done, an' 'tother young chaps 
meks game o' I, an' calls arter ma down-strit as 
narra bell wun't goo fur ma when I dies." The 
thought had evidently troubled him beyond bearing, 
for it needed no small amount of courage thus to 
interview the parson and to brave the ridicule of his 
companions at being " chris'ened same a-sif a wur a 
babby." 

After due preparation, his request was granted, 
and he went through the ceremony with a stolidity 
which afforded no clue to his real feelings. Poor 
Emmanuel, or Manny, as he was called in the 
village ! There was even then something of the 
hero hidden beneath his rough exterior. I will tell 
presently another fragment of his story, and how 

169 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

he came to be a soldier of the Queen a year or two 
after his baptism and confirmation. 

The people hold a strange theory in connection 
with the last-named rite. A little child was heard 
making use of improper language ; the mother, on 
being expostulated with, replied : " What do it 
matter if a do swe'r now an' agen, pooer little cratur ? 
Ther' bent no sin belonging to sich as he, bless 'ee. 
His godfeythers an' godmothers has to tek all that 
upon 'urn till the chile be confirmated, then he'll 
ha' to be'r 't hisself. Childern cassn't do nothen 
wrong, bless 'ee, afoor they be confirmated, an' if 
they was to die, they 'ud goo to heaven d'reckly 
minnit." 

One wonders that sponsors can be found will- 
ing to accept the responsibility of bearing another's 
shortcomings in addition to their own ! It might 
also with reason be supposed that parents and 
children entertaining such a belief would regard con- 
firmation as a ceremony to be avoided : this, how- 
ever, is not the case. 

For a candidate to be rejected on account of 
ignorance or bad behaviour is considered almost a 
misfortune, certainly a disgrace. I remember see- 
ing the mother of a large family, eight of whom 
were sons, busy at the wash-tub with a Prayer- 
book propped on the window-ledge before her ; 
while her carter-boys ate their dinner she was teach- 
ing them the catechism, because as she said, " Par- 
son telled 'urn they didn't knaw their sacreements ; 

170 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

an' I didn't want my sons iggerant o' what they did 
ought to knaw." 

It is a singular circumstance, and one which 
cannot but cause some questioning of heart to more 
sophisticated natures, that though so many of the 
people lead practically godless lives when in full 
health and strength, old age, as it creeps upon them, 
seems to bring with it a simple childlike piety which 
enables them to face death unmoved, and, what is a 
deeper test of faith, to bear suffering — sometimes 
sharp and prolonged — in unmurmuring patience. It 
is not long since an old woman remarked, " 'Tis 
the Lord's afflictionment, an' though the pain 
be hard to put up wi' now an agen " (she had 
a mortal disease) " I prays to Him when it sims 
a'most too bad, an' it passes off; fur He niver 
sends we moor'n we can be'r, if we looks to Him 
to help we." 

These sons of the soil, smirched with vice as they 
too often are, yet seem to preserve something of the 
child's heart beneath their crust of worlclliness, and 
it is owing to this I think, that in old age, when their 
passions drop away, they move half-unconsciously 
forward towards the Light, drawn gently with the 
cords of love by Him Who is not willing that any 
should perish, but that all should come to repent- 
ance. 



171 



Chapter XI 

FROM the graveyard where mounds cluster 
thick, the road to the village leads upward, 
as the church's road should ever do, so that even 
from the font the babe begins to climb the hill of 
life, while the aged find it an easy journey to those 
quiet graves. Every Sunday morning when the 
bells were ding-donging to the tree-tops, two old men 
used to come out of their garden gate, totter down 
the path, and pass in through the large door. They 
lived at the head of Church Lane in a cottage which 
some squatter long ago squeezed in between the 
highroad and the bank. The thatched roof leaked, 
the mud walls threatened to collapse, but the 
occupants said it would last their time, and, crazy 
hut though it were, it was at least a home, which 
the - House," that nightmare of the aged poor, is 
not. Jimmy the elder of the twain, was a simple 
soul with a child's heart in the body of a giant ; 
his once powerful frame was bowed and shrunken, 
long years of toil had bent his back until his head 
rested upon his breast. With his rugged face and 
silver hair he was a picturesque figure in his 

172 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

white smock-frock, over which fell a beard scarcely 
less white. He seldom spoke, and was seldom 
spoken to, for he was stone-deaf, a fact that troubled 
him less than it did his house-mate. " Pooer ole 




WILI.UM AND JIMMY, 



man," the latter would remark plaintively, " if he 
could o'ny year hisself trumpettin' about the place 
in they girt boots o' his'n ! It goes clane through 
my yead, it do ; but ther', ten't a mossel o' use 
tellin he on't ! " 

" Willum " was not infrequently plaintive. There 

173 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

was something at once pathetic and grotesque about 
his appearance ; his clothes had an obviously 
clerical cut, suggesting the idea that they had seen 
service in a higher sphere before they came into 
his possession ; his lank, melancholy visage was 
seamed with wrinkles innumerable, and adorned by 
a shaggy black beard that age could not bleach. 
He was wont to indulge in significant winks of his 
shrewd little eyes and portentous noddings of the 
head ; when he so far forgot himself as to smile, 
he quickly resumed his habitual gloom, covering 
his momentary levity with a series of tremendous 
sighs, calculated to affect the listener's heart to the 
extent of at least a shilling. 

There was, however, some excuse for his sadness. 
His story, though by no means an uncommon one, 
held all the elements of tragedy. Told to me in 
his own homely speech, as we sat side by side on 
the bank amid the May sunshine, while the birds 
were singing in every greening tree, it served to 
sharpen the contrast between what the world was 
meant to be for man, and what it is. " I wur 
barned in that ther' house yonder," he began, 
"an' ther' I've lived a matter o' seventy-eight 
'ears, 'ceptin' when I went to Henley on a job. 
Things wur wunnerful comacal when I wur young, 
bless 'ee : there wur no free schoolin' in them days, 
an' not a girt lot on us could rade, let alone write. 
'Twurn't sa long arter the war, an' livin' wur ter'ble 
dear ; sugar wur as much as sevenpence the poun', 

174 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

an' salt half a crownd a gallon, an' bread a shillin' 
or eightpence — ah, us lived hard then ! I've 
a-yeard my father tell as how he wur draewed fur 
to goo an' fight, but he paid a substitoot to fight 
fur'n. They all come back as went from this 
village ; nairn on 'um wurn't killed. 

" When I wur near about twen'y-two I got 
married — that's fifty-six 'ear agoo ; an' you med see 
the little stool in the kitchen as I made my missus 
to put her fit upon a-foor our Jarge wur barned — 
I shan't niver part wi' he. We o'ny had the one 
chile, so seein' I wur a shepherd an' yarned twelve 
shillin' a wik an' summat at Michaelmast we got 
along quite comfer'ble-like. Jarge he got wed 
when a wur nineteen, then ther' wur o'ny me an' 
my ole ooman. 

"It med be ten 'ear agoo as I wur fust took bad, 
but I'd got my club an I usted to goo on that 
fur a spell when I couldn't work. 'T wurn't long 
a-foor I had to gie up shepherdin' altogether, 
an' fur six months I had eight shillin' a-wik club 
pay ; 'tother six the 'lowance from the parish — 
that be two shillin' an' two loaves 'ee knaw. My 
missus 'ud yarn a bit moor by workin' in the 
field, but she wurn't strong, an' it wore she out, it 
did. She got one o' them cancers in her inside as 
no doctor cassn't cure, an' I wur fust to bury she 
down ther' in the churchyard. Ah, she suffered 
ter'ble, did my pooer old Kitty ! But she be at 
rest now— she had her trouble in this life. I did 

175 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

what I could fur she, an' when she wur a-dying 
I axed her, • Be you happy, Kitty ? be you a-gwine 
to heaven ? ' ' Iss,' she sez, an* shucked her yead 
an' smiled, so I knawed 'twur all right. 

" I lived on in the old house, but 'twur that dull ! 
Many a time I've cried o' nights to think she'd a-left 
ma; I niver thought as Kitty 'ud ha' bin tuk a-foor 
me ! She'd bin dead some nine months when I 
went in one day to pay my club as I'd belonged to 
fur six an' farty 'ear. When I got to the office the 
man as teks the money he sez to ma, ' We've made a 
noo rule, an' if sa be as you wants to bide in this 'ear 
club, you'll ha' to pay three pun' down an' then you 
can bide in 't as long as you lives.' I began to 
shuck an' trimble, fur wher' was I to git sich a 
comenjous lot o' money ? So I ups to parson an' 
telled 'un about it ; he gin ma summat, an' he 
wrote ma out a paper as I went round the village 
wi', a-gatherin.' One way an' another I scambled 
it up an' guv it to the club man, but lar' bless 'ee, 
'twurn't a mossel o' use, fur sez he, ' You can kip 
your money; we made another rule a few days since, 
as nairn can't bide in this year club arter sich an 
age, an' you be wover 't, I reckon.' A turned ma 
from the dooer, an' back I come all 'mazed an' 
'founded, wi' the tears a-runnin' down my cheeks 
an' scarce walk home I could. I wur that out o' 
the way, seein' I'd looked to the club to purvide 
fur ma when I wur past work! Since then, 'stead 
o' five shillin' a-wik I've had but two, an' two loaves 

176 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

— that's the 'lowance 'ee knaws. They hucked 
three or fower o' us ole chaps out o' club at the 
same time, so as he shouldn't bust, which he wur 
nigh doin'. Ah, 'twur a blow fur we, a crool blow." 
" Willum" shook his head sadly, and, glancing at 
his silent companion, continued, "Jimmy year wur 
well-to-do, as you med say once : he had a cottage 
of his own an' a vote fur Parleement — ther' wurn't 
many on us as had voteses in them days. But he 
niver put into narra club, didn't Jimmy, an' when 
he got past work like me, they 'udn't low 'un nothen 
from Boord alon^ o' his house. So a went an' 
selled 'un to Musters Parks, the baker, who didn't 
gie 'un no money fur't, o'ny tea an' sugar an' sich- 
like fur three months or thereabouts. When that 
come to an end they wur fust to 'low 'un from the 
parish, an' he has two shillin's same as me. We 
live together, 'cause it meks one rent an' one fire 
'stead o' two ; when coal an' rent be paid ther' yen't 
a lot left — ah, no, wunnerful little, wunnerful little. 
We mos'n gen'ly has a bit o' bread an' lard an' a 
drap o' tea, but not much moor, and arra-one gets 
tired o' alius the same. The money wun't stretch 
to clothes nohow — I just has what folks gin ma, 
an' he has his smock ; 'tis a good 'un too, fur it 
cost ten shillin', an' he've a-wore 't these twenty 
'ear. Ther' yen't another in the place, an' the 
childern calls 'un an hud-me-dud fur wearin' on't, 
but he dwun't mind 'cause the slop kips 'un warm, 
an' he cassn't year needier." 

177 M 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" Willum " paused, and leant his trembling, toil- 
worn hands upon his stick. The sun was setting 
behind the western woods ; clear against the amber 
sky stood out the venerable tower — " 'mid change un- 
changing " — where the clock was chiming the hour. 
As the notes floated upward through the stillness 
the old man roused himself : " 'Tis a'most time we 
wur a-bed. I likes to year the clock, it soundes 
sa cheerful, 'specially o' nights. Whativer should 
us do wi'out church ? I minds some six or seven 
'ear agoo ther' wur a talk o' they Parleement chaps 
doin' away wi't. Parson had a girt paper sent to 
'un fur ivery one to put ther names as didn't hold 
wi' upsettin' 'un, so I goes to parson an' sez I : 
1 Plase sir, I've a-yeard as you ha' got what 'um 
calls a 'tition agin they lawyer folk as wants to tek 
away church from we pooer people. I'd like to 
set my mark to't, fur 'twud be an unked job if sa 
be as us had got no church. Who 'ud chris'en we, 
who 'ud marry we, an' who 'ud bury we ? That 
be what us must all come to ee knaws." 

Ay, and to some the road to that quiet green 
hollow is not so easy after all. 

The emphasis laid by old William on burial was 
quite in accordance with the feeling of his class. 
The thoughts of the poor run much on this subject ; 
the idea of a pauper funeral is peculiarly abhorrent 
to them, and the sacrifices they will make to avoid 
this degradation, as they deem it, are almost in- 
credible. 

178 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

In one instance a village mother insured each 
of her five children at birth against the possible 
expenses of burial ; by the time the eldest had 
reached the age of seventeen, the payments had 
extended over a period of sixty-one years, reckoning 
the respective ages as successive instead of con- 
current. The woman herself died of consumption 
after a lingering illness, but the thought that she 
held a policy on her own life seemed to rob death 
of half its bitterness. Though wasted to a shadow 
and racked by an incessant cough, a momentary 
gleam would lighten her sunken eyes as, uncon- 
scious of the terrible irony of her words, she would 
gasp out, " When I dies I shall have six pounds 
to bury me ! " 

Another case which came under my notice was 
that of a labourer who, owing to a defective hand, 
never earned more than twelve shillings a week 
even in haytime and harvest, and in winter his 
wages were as low as nine shillings. Out of this 
small income he contrived to maintain a regular 
payment on insurance policies, in addition to that 
on sick clubs for himself and his wife. " 'Tis showin' 
reespect towards them as belongs to we, to lay by 
fur our funerals," they say. 

Old William's Kitty was the most pathetic 
instance I know. Before he was " hucked out " 
of the benefit club his sole means of existence 
during one half of the year was, as he said, the 
parish allowance. It being impossible that he and 

179 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

his wife could keep body and soul together on this 
pittance, she applied for outdoor relief also. Her 
request was refused, because in the opinion of those 
appointed to safeguard the interests not of the rate- 
payers but of the poor, she was still able to work. 
Kitty was a dwarf, deformed, and even then the 
victim of the terrible disease from which she died — 
in justice to the Guardians it should be said that 
they were probably ignorant of this last circum- 
stance ; yet day after day she dragged herself to 
the fields while she had strength to crawl, earning 
from sevenpence to ninepence a day by tying barley 
under the harvest sun. It was a pitiable spectacle! 
Out of her miserable wages she religiously set aside 
the payments which she had begun in more pros- 
perous times for her funeral expenses. She died 
a pauper, after terrible suffering ; she was buried 
decently, at her own cost, with money earned by 
the sweat of her brow, and at the last amid sharp 
bodily anguish. 

Similar instances of this passion for insurance 
could be multiplied by the score ; and, to the credit 
of the agricultural classes be it said, it is rarely that 
their children reap any evil from the system as is 
sometimes the case among an urban population. Of 
late, however, since the idea of old-age pensions has 
been promulgated, the peasant has bethought him 
that it would be more to his advantage to pay in for 
an annuity when he reaches a certain age, than for a 
lump sum at death. 

180 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

His remarks on the subject display a mingling 




GROWING OLD. 



of simplicity and shrewd common sense. He is of 
opinion that " this year 'surance job as we ha bin 

181 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

on wi' sa long, dwun't do we a mossel o' good, 'cause 
we has to be dead, luk'ee, a-foor us can touch a 
penny. 'Tis right anuff fur our friends an' them as 
has to bury we ; but 'ten't no odds to we — a man 
cassn't see his own fun'ral, bless 'ee ! " 

One individual, who for many years has patron- 
ized the insurance company, has come, late in the 
day, to the conclusion that he has been rather 
wasting his money, " fur all on us be bound to 
be buried ; the bodies 'udn't be let to lie about 
over the ground — leastways, I niver knawed aim 
as did yet. An' when you comes to think on't, 
there dwun't sim much call to be worrittin' about 
our coffins when 'tis all us can do to live com'ferble. 
'Twud be a deal moor sens'ble-like if Government 
'ud tek our bits o' payment an' gie we summat 
besides the par'sh 'lowance when us got past work. 
I should ha' thought as Parleement " (the omnipotent 
machine !) " could ha' managed that bit of a job easy 
anuff; 'ten't sa ter'ble scrumped fur money that it 
couldn't put a few pounds to our savings. We 
dwun't mind doin' our part, 'ee knaw." 

This last statement I believe to be true. The 
people would be only too willing to lay by a 
provision for old age if the way were made plain. 
I trust that the prospect of old-age pensions, 
which has dangled so long before their eyes, may 
take definite shape ere many years have elapsed, 
and that cases such as old William's — they are, alas! 
too common in village life — may become things of 

182 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the past. Whatever scheme be finally adopted, it 
is to be hoped that the recipients will be allowed to 
contribute their share. Old-age pensions are good, 
but thrift and independence are better. 



183 



Chapter XII 

HARD by the churchyard lies the parson's 
meadow, which slopes down to the stream 
from a steep terrace at the farther end, and is dotted 
here and there with tall elms, stately beeches, 
and ancient thorns that in May are a mass of snowy 
blossom. Where the brook bends beneath the 
poplars, it widens into a miniature swamp, planted 
with osiers, and surrounded by grassy banks sown 
thick during spring with primroses and violets. On 
one side is a disused drain, the home some years 
ago, before he removed higher up the stream, of a 
badger that wrought sad havoc with the tennis-lawn, 
turning it up from end to end that he might reach 
the tender shoots of fine grass which suited his 
fastidious palate better than the coarser produce of 
the meadow. 

Next in succession as the tenants of the drain 
came a pair of stoats, who lived there in great 
content and reared a creditable family ; they were 
followed by rabbits, and these last are so well 
pleased with their residence that they refuse to 
vacate it. Other wild creatures are also to be 

184 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

found — weasels and harmless green snakes which, 
on account of their family resemblance to the adder, 
are too often done to death by the children. 
Adders indeed are rare ; though on one occasion 
the kitten was found playing in cautious fashion 
with something that was not a ring-snake. -Miss 
Kitty, her head on one side, an expression of puzzled 
interest on her innocent face, was dealing the foe a 
succession of rapid taps about the eyes with her paw, 
to which the snake responded by proud rearing of its 
insulted crest and much ineffectual darting of its 
forked tongue. It was despatched by the gardener's 
spade and was hung up as a warning to its relatives 
not to interfere with other people's pets. 

The morass itself is a favourite refuge of many 
kinds of birds. Wild-duck and moorhens nest 
among the willows : blackbirds, linnets, thrushes, 
and finches of almost every description build in 
the surrounding trees. There may be heard the 
sedge-warbler's note ; the shrill ha-ha-ha, so like a 
mocking laugh, of the great woodpecker ; the jay's 
harsh cry and the rough croak of the corncrake. 
There is yet another bird which, for want of a 
better name or more accurate information concern- 
ing it, is dubbed the devil-bird. As may be sur- 
mised from its soubriquet, it has never yet been 
seen, therefore its outward appearance is a matter of 
conjecture. Not so its whistle, which is maddeningly 
familiar to frequenters of the parson's meadow. It 
starts with a bar of what promises to be a pretty 

185 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

enough tune, but at the fifth note it stops suddenly 
short, and starts again with the same result. In no 
wise discouraged by failure, it spends the whole 
long summer day in striving vainly after the re- 
mainder of that tune — an example of strenuous 
endeavour crowned by small success. 

The ragged ivy-clad firs that abut on the field, 
are haunted by an owl, which during autumn and 
winter is suffered to dwell there in peace. With 
the advent of spring the blackbirds, who, with 
a pair of ring-doves, appear to consider that they 
possess a monopoly of the firs for nursery purposes, 
assemble in council, and after mature deliberation 
they proceed to "hessle" the poor owl, as the rustics 
say ; to eject him, that is, with much chatter and 
scolding, from his comfortable quarters. Though 
he could defy two or even three of his noisy foes, 
he is no match for half a dozen, and he is compelled 
to seek refuge amid the fastnesses of another ivy- 
covered tree near the morass, from whence he 
nightly sends up his melancholy hoot. 

May transforms the green meadow into a veritable 
field of the cloth of gold, where cattle stand knee- 
deep in buttercups, and the air seems to quiver with 
the weight of song from insects teeming in the grass, 
and birds making music among the fresh young 
foliage. Then it is that the chorus from tiny throats 
swells loudest, that the doves coo most emphatically, 
that domestic affairs, such as the feeding of hungry 
mouths, begin to press upon feathered parents, 

186 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Those two sparrows flying busily backwards and 
forwards, seeking worms and flies, have a solitary 
nestling, but it is more trouble than the thrush's 
large family next door, for it is a cuckoo ! There 
it sits on the railing from morn till eve, shaking its 
wings and crying, "More, more!" in frenzied en- 
treaty, while its foster parents exhaust themselves 
in their unceasing endeavours to satisfy this abnor- 
mally greedy, well-grown child ; already, though 
but half fledged, it is larger far than they. Let us 
hope this is not the little sparrows' first essay in 
matrimony — to hatch out a cuckoo at the start is 
enough to discourage a young couple just beginning 
housekeeping. 

When the June sun has set amid a flood of amber 
light that turns the distant woods to gold, and 
touches the swaying tree-tops with shafts of tremb- 
ling radiance ; when one by one the stars steal into 
the pale blue sky; when no sound save the whisper- 
ing of the leaves, the murmur of the brook, is heard 
in all the darkening world, then from the deep 
shade of the great elms the nightingale's first 
notes float out upon the air, followed by a flood 
of rapturous melody. It ceases, to break forth 
again at midnight when the moon etches the 
shadows on a silver background, and that poignant 
song, thrilling through the stillness, smites the heart 
with a sense of pleasure that in its mystery comes 
near to being pain. 

Not alone in spring and summer is the parson's 

187 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

meadow beautiful. See it during autumn when it 
is a study in red and brown and yellow. That 
flame-coloured branch in the beech is the earliest 
to hang out the signal of summer's departing : 
thence the rich hues creep slowly over the whole 
tree, until ft is a second burning bush, unlike the 







parson's meadow. 



first, alas ! in that it is transient and consumed. 
Before rough winds begin to blow the leaves fall one 
by one, fluttering softly to the earth as if parting 
were no sorrow, and so many still are left that these 
are scarcely missed. But when October gales sweep 
the landscape they come whirling down in clouds, 
torn from their parent stem by the relentless blast, 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and the beech is left stripped, despoiled, standing in 
naked majesty against the leaden sky, its every twig 
and stalwart branch outlined with exquisite distinct- 
ness — even in this its hour of humiliation it is beauti- 
ful still. 

Though shorn thus of its glory, it is not for- 
saken by its former friends. Beneath its spread- 
ing boughs is strewn great store of nuts which 
attract the ring-doves, pattering busily among 
the withered leaves. Squirrels too, flash up and 
down the smooth green bole, and even the well-fed 
hens do not disdain to avail themselves of its bounty. 
Sometimes it happens that these last pay dearly for 
their greed. Among the animals which visit the 
meadow Reynard is a not infrequent guest, and 
more than one roving absent-minded fowl has he 
snapped up in the grass. Retribution has been 
known to overtake these breaches of hospitality. 
He was trotting in leisurely fashion down the slope 
one day, carrying a plump hen which he doubtless 
intended for his supper, when he found himself con- 
fronted by a human foe. Instead of exercising 
the better part of valour and making off with his 
prize, he turned viciously on the enemy, dropping 
the fowl to snap at the man. The latter snatched 
up a stake close at hand, at the same time securing 
the stolen bird, and Reynard was compelled to beat 
an ignominious retreat to bed, minus board. 

It may have been the same fox which ran up the 
meadow from the churchyard and took refuge behind 

189 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

a pile of faggots. A few moments later the field was 
dappled with hounds, and the hunt, putting their 
horses at the fence, rode in and out among the trees, 
their pink coats gleaming against the sober back- 
ground. That was poor Foxy's last run ; he was 
dragged from his hiding-place and held up aloft. 
One instant his glossy fur shone in the pale wintry 
sunshine ; the next he was flung to the clamorous 
pack. 

When snow covers the ground and the earth is 
fast bound by iron bands, the wild inhabitants of the 
meadow forsake their loved haunts and repair to the 
adjacent garden, where hares find cabbages, birds 
crumbs — thrown out to them day by day — and 
squirrels a heap of nuts ; for though the iniquities of 
the two last are manifold, the remembrance of their 
sins is forgotten in the time of dearth. Even par- 
tridges, stray woodcock, snipe and a solitary heron are 
glad to avail themselves of the parson's field, where 
the sound of the sportsman's gun is seldom heard to 
vex them with its terrors, and calm security for the 
most part reigns. No ruder noises dispel the 
quietude than the laughter of the school-children 
when they pour themselves into the meadow at 
their yearly treat, and their fresh young voices, as, 
joining hands in a wide circle, they chant some 
ancient ditty — " Here we go round the mulberry 
bush," or " Green gravel, green gravel " — whatever 
that singular product may be. 

Once indeed, the ordinary frequenters of the leafy 

190 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

shades fled affrighted to coverts new from the 
clamour that prevailed throughout a long hot 
memorable June day, the remembrance of which 
abides with us still. 

The village was left to take care of itself while 
young and old, every soul the place could number, 
save the absolutely bedridden, repaired to the par- 
son's meadow, there to speed the sunny hours with 
the strains of a real brass band — no mere dulcimer 
and concertina — and sports many and curious, in- 
cluding a greasy pole surmounted by a leg of mutton. 
This last, if the truth be told, proved an occasion of 
blaspheming to more than one ambitious youth, the 
language that was expended on spoilt clothes and sore 
palms falling far short of a parliamentary standard. 
The prize was secured by a persevering lad, who, 
after repeated attempts, succeeded in attaining 
the goal of his desires, whence he descended with a 
rapidity that was involuntary on his part, to declare 
that he " 'udn't niver goo up an" — emphatic — "gr'asy 
pole agen, no, not if a whole sheep wur stuck a- top 
on't, let alone a bally leg o' mutton ! " a sentiment 
which his discomfited rivals heartily applauded. 
Over the men's tug-of-war (married versus single) 
excitement ran high, the matrons and the maids 
urging on with shrill cries their respective champions 
to the contest which took place across the brook. 
The struggle had swayed doubtfully backwards and 
forwards some minutes, when a sharp-eyed advocate 
of matrimonial bliss discovered that her side was 

191 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

short of its full complement by one, and proclaimed 
the fact with such insistence that proceedings were 
stayed while a brief consultation among the married 
team ensued as to whom should be chosen to fill 
the gap. A wag suggesting that the thatcher was 
a " likely man, who did oughter pull fine seein' he've 
just took his second missus," shouts were raised for 
" Giley ! wher' be our Giley then ? " 

Slowly the ponderous form of the thatcher heaved 
into view, striking dismay into his opponents, who 
had only just managed to hold their own before, and 
who shivered in anticipation of the wetting this 
doughty recruit seemed to promise them. With be- 
coming solemnity he divested himself of his coat and 
waistcoat, handed them to Leah who exhorted him 
to " goo on an' mind as he pulled they young chaps 
into the bruk," and tightening his belt, took his 
place on the rope, a modest yet confident smile 
illuminating his weather-beaten visage, as who 
should say: "Though 'the battle is not always to 
the strong ' the odds that we shall win this one are 
great." And win it they did. From the moment 
the rope was drawn taut the Benedicks " ran away " 
with the bachelors, who suffered themselves to be 
dragged across the stream after a fashion which the 
girls stigmatized as " summat ridic'lous and crool to 
see ; the girt lot o' young safts !" at the same time 
giving their dripping swains to understand that the 
latter " needn't think as we be gwine to let them 
objec's come anighst our best frocks, 'cause we ain't !" 

192 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Such heartless want of sympathy in their downfall 
occasioned some murmuring among the single men, 
who were thereupon counselled by the matrons to 
" goo an' get wed as soon as you can find an ooman 
to tek you; a man be never no good till he's married 
(not over much then, neether!) an' all you young 
chaps 'ud be twicet what you be now, if you'd each a 
missus to look arter 'ee." 

It was useless to combat these opinions, supported 
as they were by the husbands' superior bulk ; the 
insulted youths could only receive them in silence, and 
resolve to remedy the defect as speedily as might 
be. 

Of all the events that day the married women's 
race was the most mirth-provoking. The prize — a 
long length of white calico — was earnestly coveted 
by mothers of families, and was responsible for the 
large number of entries. A stranger lot of competi- 
tors surely never awaited the starter's signal ! Young 
matrons, middle-aged matrons, a few displaying the 
respectable white hairs of age ; stout women, thin 
women, and " betwix' an' betweens," as those who 
held a middle course between the two conditions, 
described themselves ; some minus their boots, which 
they had discarded to attain greater speed, others 
having their skirts kilted half-way to their knees with 
the same object, were ranged in an extended row 
across the field. At the dropping of the handker- 
chief off they flew, vigorous white-stockinged legs 
flashing over the grass, loosened hair and petticoats 

193 n 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

streaming in the wind, and amid the laughter and 
cheers of the by-standers they reached the goal — all 
save a poor-spirited half-dozen who fell out at the very 
commencement to sink upon the turf and fan their 
heated faces, while they declared that they only 
started to "hearten up 'tothers so as 'urn shouldn't 
feel shy-like." For their part, they "thanked the 
Lord that they could buy whativer calica they 
wanted." 

Notwithstanding these lofty sentiments, the enun- 
ciators thereof regarded the winner of the despised 
trophy with jaundiced eyes when she returned pant- 
ing but triumphant. She was a small wiry woman 
whose six sons — imps of mischief, every one — had 
given her abundant practice in running, and who, 
when congratulated on her success, replied : " If they 
tother oomans had axed my bwoys, they could ha' 
telled urn as 'twurn't a mossel o' use fur they to run 
agin I. An' if it comes to that, I reckon as I could 
mek a good few men look foolish ! " 

The fun and frolic in the meadow were kept 
up so long as daylight lasted. Only when night 
fell did the crowd melt away to seek some point 
of vantage, whence they might view the circle 
of flame-tipped hills that girt the vale with a ring 
of fire. 

Since that summer day, whose jollity was marred 
by no inharmonious note, quietness has again held 
sway over the field. But " the old order changeth, 
giving place to new " ; and perchance, ere long, the 

194 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

parson's meadow may once more be the scene of a 
merry gathering. For though we cannot choose but 
mourn the old order which we loved, that it finds 
its fulfilment in the new is surely mete cause for 
rejoicing. 



195 




; y t vv«v , 'M''' '" 



THE VILLAGE IN SUMMER. 



Chapter XIII 

DURING summer the village, with the excep- 
tion of a few houses near the upper end, 
is almost invisible to the passing wayfarer on 
the highroad, since at this season of the year it 
retires into the leafy concealment of its gar- 
dens and orchards. The roofs of thatch, tiles or 
slates are hidden by a mass of verdure that viewed 
from afar, before the sickle has touched the ripened 
grain, looks like an emerald set in gold. Around 
on every side spreads a well-nigh unbroken sea 
of yellow corn, and here and there from the 
quivering undulating waves rise scattered patches 
of woodland, dark and motionless as islands. The 
distance is veiled by a delicate blue haze ; over the 
whole expanse a slumberous stillness broods. The 
traveller might almost fancy he had reached the 
lotus-eaters' land, where it is always afternoon. 

196 






TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

The lark's music growing fainter and more faint 
as the singer soars upward towards the clear azure, 
the corncrake's whirring note, the cry of distant 
flocks, the rustle of the slender wheat-stalks bend- 
ing beneath the wind's caress, — the silence is broken 
by such sounds as these, or by the subdued whistle 
of the far-off locomotive which, with its suggestion 
of a world of toiling cities and busy marts, serves 
but to enhance the idyllic repose of this sequestered 
spot. If the impression of aloofness be thus ap- 
parent in summer, it is doubly so when winter's 
chastening hand is laid upon the earth, and furious 
storms rage round the battered dwellings ; when 
the roads are blocked with snow, rendering outside 
communication impossible, or even at the close 
of an ordinary December day. The very trees 
seem to shiver at their own bareness, and lift 
gaunt appealing arms to the leaden sky. In all the 
neutral-tinted world of russet woods, and brown 
fields that stretch away until they meet the sullen 
heavens, there is but one relieving touch — a faint 
pink line behind the coppice on the south-west 
knoll. 

As the day hastens to its end this line grows and 
deepens, flushing the clouds with purple, orange 
and crimson, lending a transient glow to hill and 
dale, and striking red gleams from every window it 
can reach. The brief vision of glory has scarcely 
faded, ere from its lurking place by the brook a 
white mist steals, creeping up and up until skeleton 

197 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

woods and dreary uplands are blotted from view, 
and the horizon is brought down to within a few 
yards of the cottage doors. Slowly the cows drop 
homeward one by one from their pastures in the 
vale ; children let loose from school seek the warm 
shelter of the fireside, and the street is deserted 
save for a tired labourer who splashes through the 
mud amid the softly-falling dusk. How desolate, 
how forlorn does the village now appear ! how 
severed from all ties with the rest of the empire of 
which it forms such an infinitesimal part, such a 
pitiful fragment ! 

But a bright spot of colour looms against the 
grey background ; a soldier strides jauntily down 
the road, and the horizon, that a moment since was 
so narrow, embraces half the globe. The sight of 
that one scarlet tunic evokes a crowd of undying 
memories ; it conjures up a vast shadowy host of 
nameless heroes who have planted the British flag 
in every quarter of the earth, and watered it with 
their life-blood. Nor in this work has our corner 
been behindhand ; her sons are no laggards, they ever 
were fighters, and far and wide have they gone to 
strive for Sovereign and country. Some of them 
have come back to live out the remainder of their 
days in the old home ; others stayed behind "over 
there," in the six-foot strip of foreign soil which 
they bought and bequeathed in perpetuity to 
the empire — it is rich in such legacies. Among 
the former is an old veteran who served through 

198 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the Crimea ; having managed to survive the cam- 
paigns, and what was perhaps, a greater feat, — 
the hospital at Scutari, he returned to England, 
married a wife, became the proud father of two 
comely daughters, who are the crown of his old 
age, and is now tranquilly awaiting " Last Post " and 
" Lights Out." Like all our village soldier-lads 
who take upon themselves the responsibilities of 
wedded life, he is an excellent, nay, an indulgent 
husband, and being " very handy wi' his fingers, 
a' most as good as an ooman," he is able to relieve 
his invalid spouse of many household duties. The 
chief event of his later years was the Jubilee parade 
of veterans at Chelsea Hospital, when he formed 
one of the long line in which " every breast was 
shinin' with honour," to quote his own words. 

Poor old fellow ! He felt somewhat lost among 
the crowd on this great occasion. The bustle of 
London bewildered him, and in his anxiety lest he 
should miss the last train, and so be stranded for 
the night amidst the howling brick wilderness, he 
would not wait to partake of the excellent tea pro- 
vided by those who organized the parade, but set 
off immediately the inspection was over, walked to 
Paddington, and arrived home weary and ex- 
hausted, but happy in that he had been able once 
more to wear his beloved medals. 

Nothing gives him keener pleasure than to dilate 
to an appreciative listener on his military experi- 
ences, and to air his views as to the army and its 

199 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

officers. Going one evening to call on his wife,. I 
found that she was away from home for a few days, 
and that the old soldier was left to look after him- 
self. This he appeared quite capable of doing, 
though he complained that it was " wunnerful 
unked wi' no one in the house to spake to." 

He was frying bacon for his supper, and begged 
me to remain through the operation. While he 
deftly turned the slices in the pan, he poured out 
a flood of reminiscences stimulated by an occasional 
leading question. 

" We was in Ireland," he began, " when the war 
wi' Roosia broke out, an' orders come down from 
the War Office to bring up the rig'ment to its 
fightin' strength as quick as med be. Our ser- 
geants went out into the streets o' Dublin an' swep 
in the men like tea-leaves off the floor ; in they 
brought 'urn, any they could get, put 'urn in a bath, 
an' sent 'um afore the doctor, who passed urn 
whether they wur fit or not. What did it matter to 
him if 'um died, so long as the rig'ment had its 
number ? we wur full o' sich green stuff, blesh you. 
An' die they did, like so many flies, when we got to 
the Crimeer ! An old soldier knows a few things ; 
he can forage fur hisself, an' take keer o' hisself, but 
them poor raw lads didn't know nothink, needier 
what they should, nor what they shouldn't do. 
Well, I had plenty o' fightin', o'ny I often wished 
as I could ha' read about it fair an' plain in the 
newspapers ; folks at home knew a deal moor about 

200 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the battles than we who wur in 'urn. You see, 
Miss, there's the firm line in front, an' the super- 
num'ary rank behind, an the non-commissioned 
orficers to look arter you, an' all as you've got to do 
is go straight forrard an' kill. It soundes simple 
anuff to talk about, but 'ten't sa easy to do. The 
Roosians wur bad to fight ; they bayoneted the 
wounded, which wurn't fair, 'cause a man ceases to 
be an enemy when he's lyin' on the ground. I 
went right through them three battles, and was in 
the trenches afore Sebastopol until I got the die- 
sentry, then I wur sent down to Scutari, which 
wurn't sa bad, if you could move your hands or 
walk about. But to lie as I seed some poor chaps, 
wi'out the strength sa much as to lift a finger to 
knock away the flies hangin' all round their eyes an' 
mouth an' nose — swarms of urn ! — ah, that wur 
crool, worse nor any fightin'. Our Colonel as 
brought us out o' the Crimeer wur a nice man, but 
he wurn't strict anuff; we wur like his own chil- 
dren, an' he said he couldn't punish them as he'd 
led sa often agen the enemy. But he got into 
trouble for't, 'spesh'ly when we went to Canada. 
The war between the North an' South States was 
beginnin' just then ; lots o' our men deserted to the 
Americans, an' when they'd had anuff of it, they'd 
write an' ask the Colonel to let 'um into the 
rig'ment agen. It don't do to be too easy, just as it 
don't do to be too strict like some orficers, who 
ty-rannizes over the men. S'pose you've just pipe- 

201 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

clayed your belt, an' hung it up ready for p'rade, 
an' a speck o' dirt gets on it. In comes the orficer, 
puts his glass to his eye, an' that there glass magni- 
fies that there speck till 'tis as big as a door-knob. 
' Sergeant,' sez he, ' that man is dirty ; put his 
name down.' That kind o' thing puts a man in a 
trumble, meks 'un disheartened. It don't do to 
ty-rannize ; you can lead the men anywhere, but they 
won't be druv ! " 

Though the village is permeated with the military 
instinct, and has furnished recruits during the 
last few years out of all proportion to its size, 
its ignorance on the subject of war and the 
army is profound. Even those families that can 
boast one or more soldiers among its members, are 
not much better informed than others less pri- 
vileged. The rustics know that the army is a vast 
body of men — larger, they imagine, than that of any 
other power in the world, and " moor'n arra one 
could count in a day," for figures convey no idea to 
their minds, so low a number as 500 being quite 
beyond their grasp. Parts of this great body, 
notably those in which they have a personal in- 
terest, are being continually shifted (I am speaking 
now of the normal state of affairs before the South 
African war began) in a foolish unnecessary manner 
to all quarters of the globe. This arrangement or 
disarrangement is peculiarly trying to letter-writing 
relatives of soldiers abroad. English addresses 
present no special difficulties; Irish names also may 

202 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

be achieved ; but Indian nomenclature is enough to 
drive the illiterate correspondent to despair. Fer- 
ozepore, by an unnatural transition, becomes " Free- 
zypoor," and Mian Mir scarcely recognizes itself in 
" Min Marn." The Land of the Five Rivers how- 
ever suffers the strangest change, Punjaub being 
ruthlessly metamorphosed into " Punchjam ! " 

" Shifted agin ! " exclaimed a sorely tried parent 
who had just mastered an address in which Bareilly 
figured as " Brolly " ; " shifted agin, but this time a 
sez 'tis fur his 'elth, so that sims moor sens'ble like. 
They be gone up on the Downs, 'cause it be coolder 
ther' nor down below, but I cassn't tell 'ee the name 
o' the place — 'tis a comacal anuff 'un, like all them 
over ther." 

By the Downs the speaker meant of course the 
hills, the greatest height to which her mind could 
soar being the low chalk range of her native 
county. 

Another elderly lady of larger imagination told 
me with much pride that her soldier grandson then 
serving in India, was " up in the clouds, a sez, an' he 
can't get no higher nor that." 

To the peasant the army is a huge voracious 
machine which swallows unlimited raw material in 
the shape of ploughboys, and turns out the smart 
finished article — a British soldier. Of the manu- 
facturing process, beyond the fact that " they has to 
larn their shootin' an' their drillses," the feeders of 
the machine know but little. 

203 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" I can't tell 'ee nothen about sojerin'," remarked a 
mother of many sons, " though I've three bwoys in 
the army ; but lor, they niver sez nothen about the 
life ; they ben't given to talkin' brodgel like some. 
Harry telled ma as he got drunk once, afoor he had 
his good conduck badge, an' the news on't wur stuck 

up in barricks fur ivery one to know : ' Harry D 

drunk ! ' I shouldn't think as that could ha' bin 
very pleasant readin' fur'n, ivery time as he paced in 
an' out: a said you couldn't help but see't, 'twur 
writ sa large an' plain." 

Of war itself the villagers had until quite lately the 
most confused and hazy notions, which the eager 
perusal of everything connected with the Boer 
conflict has helped somewhat to clear. I remember 
taking a relative in the army to call on the mother 
of a soldier, who, like the majority of our lads now 
with the colours, first went into action during the 
Frontier campaign. For the benefit of her military 
visitor, whose powers of self-control were sorely tried 
by the recital, our hostess proceeded to describe a 
skirmish in which her son had lately taken part — 

" They went out to fight one marnin, did our folks, 
an' the enemies wur all in front of 'urn. Then they 
gets a-shootin' the one side at the t'other, an' the 
Major-Colonel, or whativer a calls hisself, was 
'ounded — our Major- Colonel, I means — 'cause they 
black 'uns dwun't ha' sich things by what I can mek 
out. The men had to car' 'un away, an' tek 'un 
home, so arter that a-coorse they give out fightin'. 

204 




CONCERNING MILITARY STRATEGY. 



205 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

My son had a bullet through his elma, an' another 
betwixt the spine o' his back an' his pack what he 
wears, but he wurn't hurted nothink, so a sez in his 
letter." 

Those letters — how eagerly they are expected ; 
how unconsciously quaint they oftentimes are when 
they arrive ; and how difficult to answer if the 
mother is " no scholerd " ! A touching little in- 
cident occurred in this connexion when I happened 
some time ago to be paying a visit to an old couple 
who lived in a " lone " cottage, of which there are 
several within the bounds of the parish. I walked 
across the fields on a Sunday afternoon, and over 
the landscape lay a Sabbath calm. In the fallow, 
where the teams had left them yesterday, the ploughs 
were idle, speaking of toil past and to come, while 
up the slope to the crest of the knoll stretched a 
broad expanse of young wheat, earnest of that toil's 
fruition and symbol of life that springs ever anew 
from decay and death. There was barely sufficient 
wind to ruffle the green shoots, or to stir the crisp 
carpet of last autumn's leaves in the dark woods 
standing in ordered stillness along the course of the 
stream. Above the homestead a thin blue line of 
smoke curled lazily upward to lose itself in the grey 
heavens. Though it was but the first month of the 
year, the air was so soft that the cattle were grazing 
in the open meadow ; they raised their heads and 
drew round the gate when they heard the fogger's 
step approaching. 

207 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

"Cup, cup, cup," he called, and with meek dignity 
the fragrant dewy-lipped cows made their stately 
way across the road and into the yard where racks 
of hay awaited them. The fogger, a mild-faced old 
man whose blue eyes had faded from their former 
bright hue, shut the yard doors behind his charges, 
and his duties for the day being over, he invited me 
to accompany him to the cottage under the wood, 
where his wife sat solitary by the fire. Time was 
when a crowd of merry children had clustered about 
the hearth, but the nestlings had flown, leaving old 
John and Eliza to end their married life as they had 
begun it — "just me an' my missus." 

The daughters were married or in service, the 
sons in various situations ; one of the latter was 
a soldier then fighting his country's battles in 
far-off India, and many a night the mother lay 
awake, she told me, thinking of her boy in that 
mysterious region which she knew only as "over 
ther'," "t'other country," or " furrin' parts." 

To-day when her husband had ushered me in, and 
had ensconced himself in his armchair, still wearing 
his hat, for the labourer seldom sits bareheaded even 
in the chimney corner, she began at once about the 
Frontier war. " Pl'ase, Miss, I wants to know if 
them black men over ther' ben't purty near all killed 
by this time ? I seed t'other wik in the paper as five 
hunderd on 'urn had bin shooted in one battle, an' 
that be a sight o' folks, more'n ther' be in our village." 
I answered that I feared many still remained to 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

fight, and inquired after her son Frank. " He wur 
very well when us larst yeard from 'un ; they'd had 
a ter'ble lot o' fightin' just afore he sent off this," 
and she handed me a letter which ran thus — 

" Lundi Kotal Camp, 
"31/12/97. 
" Dere mother i now takes the pleasure of 
ansering your kind and most welcom letter" 
(" Emily wrote it when she wur larst a-twhum, fur I 
be no scholerd," put in Eliza) " 'opin' this finds you 
well as it leves me at present. I am alright ceptin' 
for colds. Dere mother, we had an awful Christmas 
Day, the awfullest as ever i knowed. I was on 
piquet duty an' I thinked of you and father — did 
you think of me ? We had a great fight yesterday, 
but I wasn't afraid. I'segot used to the bullets, but 
it was a horribil sight, the horribliest sight as ever i 
seen. I have got a dab at shooting niggers, it is 
all my delight, but it is rather dan'erous work, dere 
mother, i am glad you got the shawl alright and now 
I must conclude, give my love to farther, and tell 
him not to fret, for I am alright and jolly. 

" your Loving son 

" Frank." 

In reply to a questioning look the mother explained 
that her son one day saw a comrade knitting a 
shawl, and " Frank got him to larn he to knit one 
too, so as he could mek one for me — bless his heart. 
He sent it off an' 'shured it, that it was bound to get 

209 o 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

year safe, an' a beautiful shawl it is ! Ah, I did 
ought to be thankful as he've bin spared. Now 
ther's poor Barney Homes from the next village — 
he wur in Ireland, an' he volunteered to goo to the 
war. He hadn't bin ther' two days when they gets 
a-fightin', an' in the battle Barney wur shot in the 
leg. One o' the officers as come from these parts, 
an' knew all about Barney afoor he 'listed, knelt 
down by 'un wi' the bullets flyin' about like hail, and 
tried to squench the blood, but 'twurn't a mossel o' 
use ; so up he picked 'un on his back an' ran wi' 'un 
to put under a rock. As the officer was a-runnin' a 
bullet struck Barney in the tempil of his head an' 
killed 'un d'rectly minnit. To think as that med ha' 
bin my bwoy ! 'Tis bad, ter'ble bad fur Barney's 
mother, an' I can on'y thank the Lord that mine 
wur spared." Eliza then went on to speak of the 
difficulties that beset her correspondence with Frank ; 
she could read, but writing was beyond both her 
and old John's powers, so that except when one of 
the daughters was at home she was dependent upon 
the good offices of a friend, or of another son who 
came every Sunday to visit his parents. " I tries 
an' tries to persuade 'un to write to his brother. I 
fetches 'un the pen an' the ink an' the paper ; but 
ther', bwoys ben't like gals — 'tis a wunnerful deal o' 
trouble to get 'urn to do aught as they ben't pertic'ler 
set on doin', an' Mark be like the rest ; he 'ull on'y 
do what he've a mindt." 

Having had some experience of " bwoys " and 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

their dislike to letter writing I stepped into the 
breach and offered my services, which were grate- 
fully accepted. 

" Pl'ase to deerect 'un to wher he be now, Miss," 
said Eliza ; " he 'ull get it quicker so'n if you sends 
'un to Freezypore an they forwards 'un on ; year be 
his number an' his comp'ny." 

The important task of addressing the envelope 
accomplished, I set to work on the letter itself, and 
inquired what I should say. " Gie 'un our luv, an' 
tell 'un that I thinks of 'un every day ; aye, many 
times a day, an' say as how we wur powerful glad to 
year from 'un, an' that we both be torrablish, 'ceptin' 

'tis fur colds, an' but ther', Miss, I wur alius a 

poor hand at mekin' out what I wanted to say in a 
letter. You jest put what you thinks ; twun't mek 
no odds to he ; he 'ull be pl'ased anuff to have a line, 
I'll war'nt." 

I scratched away in silence for some time, then 
turning to old John, who usually left the talking to 
his wife, I asked whether he had no message for his 
son. The mild old face twitched, tears filled the 
faded eyes. 

" My luv, an' tell 'un to goo down on his knees 
an' thank the A'mighty fur havin' spered 'un " — the 
fogger's voice broke—" an', Miss, you med put in a 
text. You can put un tergether better nor what I 
can ; isn't ther' summat in the Psalms about the 
Lord bein' a shield an' a deefence, an' coverin' his 
head in the — the day — of battle ? " 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

The old man broke down, and hid his face in his 
hands. Eliza was weeping softly, and my own eyes 
were dim so that I could scarcely see to finish the 
letter. 

Men may talk grudgingly of the millions spent 
on war ; but its true cost cannot be reckoned, since 
it is paid not in gold, but in tears and blood. 

Two years later I wrote to Frank again — having 
sent him several letters during the interval — this 
time to break the sad news that his mother was 
dying. It was not an easy task; full well I 
knew the bitter grief my tidings would cause 
him, for our soldier lads, despite their stolid de- 
meanour and sometimes blaspheming tongues, 
possess very tender hearts, and it is when they are 
on foreign service that the full measure can be 
gauged of the love they bear to those at home. 

Not laboriously concocted epistles only, photo- 
graphs of the scenery, beautiful Indian table- 
cloths and shawls, together with many other things, 
find their way across the sea to the village. I 
remember a cottage almost squalid in its poverty 
being lighted up by the brilliant hues of some 
gorgeously embroidered cloths which the widowed 
mother displayed with intense pride and reverent 
admiration. They were the gift of her son who 
enclosed a note bidding her sell them if she were 
short of money, and he would send her more like 
them. 

" But I 'udn't part wi' 'urn not fur whativer," 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

she said, as she folded them in their silver paper 
again. 

Socks too, and stockings for little brothers and 
sisters, vests, shawls as we have seen, guernseys, 
knitted many of them by rough but loving hands 
among the wild mountains of the Khyber, attest 
the warmth of the absent boys' affection. 

"He be moor comfort than all the t'other 
childern put tergerther," remarked a woman, as she 
told how two pounds sterling had reached her from 
camp at Lundi Kotal ; " he never writes, doesn't 
Jim, wi'out puttin' summat in his letters." 

Indeed, it may be said of all the soldier sons that 
when the first shock of their enlistment is over, they 
are a pride and comfort to their parents. " We niver 
has to lay awake thinkin' o' they 'cept when they be 
fightin'. Now ther's Fred as works at home, an' is 
sa ter'ble fond o' drink ; I dwun't niver knaw what 
time o' night he 'ull come in, an' I listens an' 
listens often till midnight afoor I years his step on 
the stairs. Wi' they in the army it's quite diff'rent. 
I knaws as they has food to eat, clo'es to wear an' a 
good bed to sleep in ; they're boun' to be inside 
barricks at such a time, an' seein' I dwun't knaw 
what they're doin' I cassn't fret about 'um." 

I think I have shown clearly enough that our 
village does not regard the army as the refuge of 
ne'er-do-weels and black sheep. 

The hieh estimation in which we hold the rank 
and file is greatly owing to the influence of a large 

213 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

land-owner who lives not far away, and, himself a 
retired officer of distinction, is deeply interested in 
all that concerns the soldier's welfare. He is ever 
ready to provide employment for the reservists ; 
thus the young recruit enlists with the pleasant 
consciousness that when his term of service with the 
colours expires, he can return to his native place, 
where work and a friendly welcome await him. 

That our people, despite their many and obvious 
faults, are yet sound at heart is shown by the 
following, which was said to me by the wife ol 
a farm labourer — 

" I have but one son, and a while back he 
talked about gwine in the army ; he did'nt never 
'list, h'wever, an' I'm glad of it, seein' he's my o'ny 
one. But I 'udn't ha' stopped 'un by sa much 
as a word, fur 'tis a noble thing to fight for the 
Queen ! " 



214 



Chapter XIV 

OUR boys enlist from a variety of reasons. 
Some go because their fathers before them 
were soldiers ; others because they are tired of 
"follerin' the plough-tail"; others again adopt the 
profession of arms from a spirit of adventure and 
pure love of fighting. 

11 1 likes to year about the blo-ud," remarked 
a youth when reading a letter from his brother in 
India, in which the writer described his experiences 
of a sharp action on the North- West Frontier. " I 
likes to year about the blo-ud — mek's I feel a-sif 
I'd like to have a shot at them black fellers myself," 
and off he went straightway to enlist in the home 
battalion of his brother's regiment. Another boy 
took the shilling because he was " grizzled at " by 
his foreman. The distracted mother of this would- 
be warrior followed him to the barracks and offered 
to buy him off; she had already sent two sons 
abroad, and could ill afford to lose the wages of a 
third. His reply to her entreaties was that he 
" udn't goo back to doggin' about the fields not 
fur whatever." He liked soldiering (he had been 

215 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

at it then one day !) and a soldier he meant to be. 
He has since been ordered not to India like the 
majority of his friends, but to South Africa, where 
he was very busy for months trying to catch De 
Wet instead of Kruger, whom, before he left 
England, he announced his intention of bringing 
home. He is still at the Cape, healthy and content 
and by no means tired of soldiering. 

My readers may remember that I promised to 
tell the story of Emmanuel Welsh who came to 
the parson at night desiring baptism, and of how 
it happened that he too donned a scarlet tunic. He 
was one of the first — of late years — to enlist from 
the village, and the motives which influenced him 
were rather different from those that moved the other 
lads, wherein lies the chief interest of his tale. He 
had no natural bent towards a military career ; his 
instinct was to live and die " in his nest," in the 
place which had given him birth ; to lead the same 
peaceful if monotonous life as his fathers had led 
before him. Yet for love of a girl he shouldered 
a rifle, and passed from the seclusion of his Berk- 
shire home into the mysterious world beyond — 
"over ther' in t'other country." 

Em'ly Jane Greenaway was the acknowledged 
belle of the village ; that being so, it was the more 
surprising she should " take up " with Emmanuel, 
or Manny as he was popularly called, who, judged 
by externals, was not prepossessing. But in the 
circle of which I write — the " circus bucolicos ! " 

2i6 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

no woman is too ugly or, as regards her morals, 
too frail, no man too ill conditioned or "drunketting" 
to find a mate. Not that poor Manniwel was either 
of these last, being simply a red haired freckled 
young labourer, with a certain dogged honesty 
about him that atoned in the eyes of some people, 
Em'ly Jane presumably among the number, for 
lack of more brilliant qualities. 

The maiden had coquetted with several swains 
before her wavering fancy made its final choice, 
and there were not wanting ill-natured folk who 
said that they "did wunner as she didn't look a bit 
higher while she wur about it, than that girt ock'erd 
chap who couldn't sa much as pass the time o' day, 
he wur that ter'ble shy." The affair began in 
church, where Manny sat at the outside of the 
pew among the men on one side of the narrow 
aisle, and Em'ly Jane on the other, also at the 
outside but among the women, for the good old 
custom of separating the sexes prevails here, 
along with the black gown in the pulpit and the 
clerk in the responses. One Sunday a favourite 
hymn was given out, and Manny, to his great 
distress, found that he had forgotten his book. 
His pretty neighbour, missing the sound of his 
lusty voice, good-naturedly handed him across her 
own hymn book, and from that moment his fate 
was sealed. 

When next they met he ventured to remark 
with many blushes that it was a fine day, although, 

217 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

as a matter of fact, it happened at the moment to 
be raining heavily. Then he took to twisting 
himself round in the seat and fixing his eyes 
upon her all through the sermon instead of 
slumbering according to his former habit. Finally 
he screwed his courage to the sticking point and 
asked her whether she would walk out with him 
on Sunday afternoons. This, as every one versed 
in village etiquette knows, if not quite a definite 
proposal is at least the front door to the same. 
Em'ly Jane, gratified by his silent adoration that 
was essentially different from the coarse flattery 
of her other admirers, consented without demur, 
and the two slipped from " walkin' out" to " keepin' 
comp'ny " — a phrase denoting a much warmer 
relationship — according to the correct procedure of 
rustic wooing. Spring and summer glided happily 
away ; though no word of marriage had been 
spoken, it was perfectly understood by both that 
this was the goal whither they were bound. A 
lad and lass of their degree not seldom keep 
company together for years without broaching the 
delicate subject, and if questioned thereon will 
answer in tones of shocked surprise, " Oh, we 
ha'n't begun to think o' that yet ! " 

There was every probability that Manny's and 
his sweetheart's tranquil dream would unroll its 
silver length far away into the future, and this 
doubtless would have been the case had not an 
unforeseen incident occurred which checked its 

218 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

course midway. The slow-moving music of the 
quiet pastoral was strung to quickened action, 
harmony gave place to jarring discords, and this 
was how the mischief was wrought. 

The gentle slopes of the downs, their shallow 
valleys and wide grassy plains afford excellent 
facilities for cavalry manoeuvres. The War Office 
becoming at length by some means or other aware 
of these facilities, it happened one bright morning 
early in September, that the partridges were 
awakened not by the popping of guns, but by 
what was to them a far lesser evil — the thunder 
of artillery. Along the Queen's highway streamed 
regiment after regiment in seemingly endless file — 
scarlet tunic-ed dragoons whose tall busbies lent 
such fierceness to their eyes ; saucy hussars on 
their lean wiry horses ; proud lancers sitting bolt 
upright in the saddle, as immovable as the weapon 
at their side ; gorgeous horse-artillerymen urging 
the guns forward, while the earth trembled, and 
the villagers stood agape with wonder, and opined 
that " them girt gallopin' cannon 'ud soon shuckit our 
housen to bits if they wur to come this way many 
times, 'ee knaw." 

" Body an' sowl," remarked one old man to his 
crony, " body an' sowl, what a sight on 'um ther' 
be ! Folks sez as ther' be hunderds an' hunderds 
moor over ther' in furrin' parts, along o' the black 
men, but I cassn't think it." 

"'Ten't likely," responded the other, "when 

219 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

ther' be sich a comenjous number year. 'Ten't 
to be wunnered at as the Queen meks we pay- 
fur our dogs, seein' she has to kip all these. It 
must cost she a deal o' money to feed 'um an' 
dress 'um in they fine clo'es, let alone giein' 'um 
their wages. Lor-a-massy, to think as all them 
nice young fellers is made, as you med say, fur 
nothink but to be shot at an' kilt ! Not but what 
they looks jolly anuff now — their trubble's afoor 
'um, poor chaps. I 'udn't ha bin a so'jer, no, not 
if you'd payed ma ever so." 

The house where Em'ly Jane then lived with 
her parents, is a pretty yellow-washed cottage lined 
out with black beams and covered with roses. It 
lies close to the Turnpike at the head of the village 
and exactly opposite the wayside inn. As she 
stood in the garden among the late blooming 
flowers, herself the fairest blossom there, many a 
look was cast at her from lancer and hussar ; many 
a martial bosom swelled with admiration for the 
self-conscious little beauty. But no excuse can be 
pleaded for falling out when one's steed has to do 
the work ; the trooper cannot allege a sore heel 
as may his comrade of the line, and our susceptible 
heroes had perforce to content themselves with 
worshipping from afar. 

The long procession had wound out of sight, 
and the rustics were thinking of returning to their 
ordinary avocations, when a few horsemen were 
descried in the distance, riding leisurely along as 

220 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

if they had all yesterday and to-morrow for to-day's 
work. They proved to be a sergeant of hussars 
with his troop. Halting outside the public house, 
they dismounted, and while one of their number 
held the horses, the rest clanked into the bar and 
demanded refreshments. A rustic verandah 
wreathed with ivy, nasturtiums and canadensis runs 
round the outside of the inn, and here the soldiers 
flung themselves down on a bench to rest, stretching 
out their long legs and spurred boots to the sun, 
and surveying the world with benignant con- 
descension. Before many minutes had elapsed, 
they were the centre of a crowd of small children 
who stood with feet well apart and hands behind 
their backs, and regarded the newcomers in solemn 
silence. 

" Look at their girt swoords," a little girl took 
courage to whisper presently to a fairhaired boy 
of some five summers. 

" Wot's them funny li'le wheels in their boots fur, 
then ? " 

" Oh, them's to scrat t'other man wi' when they 
gets a-fightin." 

And so the low-toned colloquy went on. 

" Rum little kids," remarked Sergeant Chance, 
setting down his tankard and wiping foam from his 
moustache. " What's your name, sonny ? " 

11 I are Joey," replied the aforesaid small boy. 

" You're Joey, are you ? and what is your other 
name ? " 

221 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

But ' I are Joey " was all that could be extracted 
until a bolder spirit ventured to speak out — 

" Please, sir, he be Joey Welsh; that's his brother 
a-ploughin' in yon field, an' that be Em'ly Jane 
athert ther', as he be keepin' comp'ny wi'." 

" Giving us all the family history, eh ? Where 
did you say Em'ly Jane was ? Ah ! " and Chance, 







looking over the way, quite forgot to wonder what 
the Queen's English might be for "athert ther'." 

The garden was ablaze with begonias — pink, 
crimson and yellow. It was not these however, 
that riveted his attention. Leaning on the rustic 
paling was a girl in a light cotton dress, shading her 
head from the sun with a wide rhubarb leaf. The 
sergeant's quick glance took in every detail of face 

222 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and form, from the beautiful dark grey eyes with their 
thick black fringe to the dainty ankle that peeped 
from beneath the hem of her gown. 

" Ah," he repeated, " so that is Miss Em'ly Jane ; 
the chap who keeps company with her knows a good 
thing when he sees it, and so does yours truly." 

He took up his tankard, and with his long sword 
clanking at his heels, strode across the road. 

"Here's to your good health, Miss ; proud to make 
your acquaintance," he said, accompanying his words 
with a deep draught. 

The girl blushed to the roots of her hair, and the 
soldier, noting with approval her becoming shyness, 
continued gallantly — 

"My name is Sergeant Chance of the — th Hussars. 
You'll be coming over to the camp one o' these days, 
Miss, and if you inquire for me I'll show you round 
and stand you tea at our mess." 

Em'ly Jane, quite overcome by this politeness 
from a real soldier, not a mere volunteer who donned 
his uniform once a week, was stammering out a 
reply, when a loud shout from his comrades at the 
inn caused Chance to turn his head. Far away in 
the distance a moving cloud of dust that emitted 
bright sparkles and flashes, was rapidly approaching. 
The hussar muttered an oath and darted back to 
his troop. There was a short sharp word of com- 
mand, and in less than a moment the whole party 
were in the saddles, and away down the road towards 
the camp at a smart trot. 

223 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

A few minutes later a general officer, surrounded 
by a brilliant staff, rode by in the same direction, and 
this was the last the villagers saw of the troops that 
day. 

The interview between his sweetheart and the 
dashing sergeant had not escaped the observation of 
Manny, who, as the children had said, happened to be 
at work in a neighbouring field, and like every one 
else had suspended his occupation in order to watch 
the "sojers goo by." When he presented himself 
at the Greenaways' that evening for his accustomed 
promenade with the maiden of his choice, he was 
vaguely conscious of an undefined change in her 
attitude towards him. She looked at him with critical 
eyes, and for the first time it struck her how clumsy 
he appeared in comparison with the smart well set 
up men whom she had passed in review that 
morning. 

" Wot had that ther' sojer chap to say to 'ee ? " 
inquired the young ploughman as arm in arm they 
took their way along the highroad, which at this 
hour, deserted as it was, proved solitary enough 
for the most amorous pair. 

The beauty tossed her golden head. " I don't 
see no call to tell you everything as is said to 
me ; we ain't married yet, an' p'raps never shan't 
be." 

" He axed 'ee to goo to camp an' ha tea wi' un, 
cause someb'dy as yeard 'un telled I so. Now luk 
'ee, Em'ly Jane, thee doesn't goo wi'out me. I 

224 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

ben't a-gwine to have that man a-coortin' my wench, 
so thee knaws." 

Manny's heart was sore and he spoke more 
roughly than he otherwise would have done, but 
the remembrance of the trim figure i n W ell fitting- 
uniform that hung over the pales in such close 
proximity to a certain lilac gown, of the dark 
head that bent so close above the fair one that the 
hussar's busby almost brushed the girl's soft cheek, 
set all his blood aflame and stirred the twin devils 
of hatred and jealousy within him. 

He stuck to his word, and when Em'ly Jane 
announced her intention of visiting the camp, he 
gave up a day's work and wages, put on his Sunday 
clothes, and insisted on accompanying her. 

The two were wandering between the long lines 
of tents and picketed horses, when Manny noticed 
his sweetheart hanging out pink signals of welcome 
to some one, and Sergeant Chance, looking smarter 
if possible, than before, emerged from a group of 
men and came to meet them. 

" So this is your friend ? " he remarked when 
Em'ly Jane had bashfully presented the village lad 
as " the young man what keeps comp'ny with me." 

The soldier drew himself up, squared his shoul- 
ders — unnecessarily, seeing they were so square 
already — and looked the other over from head 
to foot with a cool supercilious scrutiny that made 
Manny tingle. 

Until that moment he had been modestly proud 

225 p 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

of his Sunday suit, purchased at Cateswick — " This 
suit entire for 12s. 6d. } extraordinary value ! " Now 
he became painfully conscious of its glaring defi- 
ciencies in style and cut. From behind the shelter 
of Em'ly Jane's broad brimmed hat he furtively 
eyed his rival — tall, erect, clean limbed, jaunty of 
carriage, assured in bearing, with bronzed face 
and sweeping moustache. These physical ad- 
vantages alone, even when not combined with the 
irresistible attraction of Her Majesty's uniform, 
would have weighed heavily against the homely 
young ploughman, and the latter realized, with a 
crushing sense of his own helplessness, the futility 
of struggling against such overwhelming odds. Un- 
happy and ill at ease, he maintained a sulky silence, 
while his sweetheart, whose shyness had quickly 
vanished, giggled and talked, bridled and blushed 
with the sergeant. 

" Your friend ain't much of a hand at conversa- 
tion," remarked the latter presently ; " what is his 
name, if I might be so bold ? " 

" Emmanuel Welsh ; but we mos'n generally calls 
him Manny or Manniwel, for short." 

The other laughed. " Got some rum names in 
these parts ; he ought to join us instead o' loafin' 
about the country ; we'd soon lick him into shape 
an' make a ' man ' of him." 

The lad's face flamed. "An' what else be I 
now ? " he asked savagely. 

Again the sergeant gave that aggravating laugh, 

226 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and turning to the girl said : " What do you say, 
Miss, to me and you having tea at our mess ? 
Your friend seems a bit put out about some- 
thing ; p'raps he'd best forage for 'isself at the 
canteen." 

Em'ly Jane assented, and Manny watched the 
two out of sight, Chance, with his usual cavalry 
swagger accentuated by the consciousness that he 
was the envy of all his comrades, endeavouring to 
shorten his stride in order to keep pace with the 
tripping steps of the dainty little figure at his side. 

" Curse him, curse him ! " said Manniwel under 
his breath and crept away, not to the canteen, but 
to a friendly thicket where — well, no one saw ex- 
actly what he did there ; but when one of the villagers 
whom he encountered an hour or two later, happened 
to remark on the swollen appearance of his eyelids, 
he curtly replied that " his eyes wur his own, he 
s'pwosed, an' he couldn't see as it mattered to aim 
wot 'un looked like, so long as he wur satisfite wi' 
um." From which it will be seen that affairs were 
no smoother between him and his faithless sweet- 
heart. True, they rode home in the same long 
wagon, but whereas in the morning they had 
occupied a comparatively small portion of the plank 
that served for a seat — for when two people sit very 
close together with their arms round each other's 
waists a wonderful economy of space results — in 
the evening the lad, having taken his place early, 
was near the driver, while the lass, having 

227 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

hurried up breathless just as the wagon, full 
almost to overflowing, was about to start, was 
squeezed in close to the tail-board, and told she 
" med think herself lucky she wur tuk in at all." 

After this Em'ly Jane went often to the camp, 
but Manny never again ; and folks began to talk 
and say how she "had gin him the go-by all along o' 
a sojer chap, what more'n like had a missus a' ready ; 
you could niver tell wi' them kind, bless 'ee ; they 
wur that artful, year to-day an' gone termorrer, an' 
as like as not a sweetheart in ivery place. They 
dwun't think no moor on't, 'ee knaws, than yuttinj 
their dinner ; 'tis them fine clo'es as does it ! " 

Manny heard some of the whispers about himself, 
but he said nothing ; he merely waited until the 
last of the troops had left the neighbourhood. 
Each Sunday morning he had gone to church and 
sat at the outside of the pew, but the place across 
the aisle was vacant ; its owner was over at the 
camp service, a grand affair, with the parson at the 
drumhead and the band to play the hymns. Each 
Sunday evening he had knocked as usual at the 
Greenaways' door, only to find it locked and the 
house silent and empty. But when the last hateful 
uniform had vanished, he boldly accosted Em'ly 
Jane in the street one day, and asked her whether 
she intended to walk out with him any more. 

" Thee'st trated ma ter'ble bad," he said with a 
kind of rugged dignity, " thee'st trated ma ter'ble 
bad, mekin' game o' I an' my neame which my god- 

228 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

fathers an' godmothers in my baptism, wherein I 

wur med " 

" I never," cried the girl with a shade of com- 
punction, for her conscience reproached her, and 
she was sufficiently fond of her quondam swain to 
wish to stand well in his estimation. 

"But I'm willin to let byganes be byganes," 
pursued the young man, waving aside her interrup- 
tion, " fur I'm 'mazin' fond on 'ee, Em'ly ; meks I 
feel all rlappety like when I thinks o' t'other chap. 
I cassn't let 'ee goo, my dear, I cassn't let 'ee goo ! 
ther's nowt I 'udn't do to get 'ee fur my missus ! " 

Em'ly Jane was unprepared for this burst of 
passion and knew not how to respond. Her heart 
melted within her, and she was on the point of 
yielding to his encircling arm, when the crackle of a 
letter in her pocket, as Manny pressed close beside 
her, turned the scale and decided the course of two 
lives. 

" Your missus ! " she said with a laugh, stiffening 
her little figure and drawing away from him 
— " Your missus ! you o'ny twenty year old an' 
me eighteen ! I reckon I'll wait a bit longer 
before I tie myself to a man for good and all." 

" Now dwun't 'ee bide; I'll be ever so saft an 
kind to 'ee when we be wed, though I'm a rough 
chap enough to look at. Let ma goo to parson 
an' gie 'un our neames to call o' Sunday ; ther's a 
house I knows on as we can get, an I've saved 
a pound or two fur tables an' cheers an' such-like." 

229 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" I tell 'ee I wunt wed thee 'it, so ther,' " an- 
swered the girl hotly, dropping her small affecta- 
tions of speech and lapsing into the broadest dialect. 
" Do 'ee think as I be a-gwine to marry a labourin 
man at ten shillin a wik an' live year all my days ? 
'cause I ben't — good- night." And she slipped away 
into the dusk leaving Manny gazing after her, a 
prey to the most conflicting emotions. 

After this he gave up sitting at the outside of 
the pew, and instead of waiting at the corner when 
service was over, as all the other youths did, until 
their respective sweethearts came out of church, 
he stumped away down the road with his hands in 
his pockets and his head on his breast. No one 
ever ventured to speak to him, and his little brothers 
were very careful at this time to keep out of his 
reach. Manny was one of twelve children, and, as 
their father pertinently observed, " When they be 
all a-twhum ther' ben't cheers anuff fur'n to set on," 
which was perhaps the reason why he spent so 
much of his spare time, not to mention his money, 
at the public house. Mrs. Welsh was an industrious 
woman with a sharp tongue and a warm heart, both 
of which were kept in working order by her large 
family, who swarmed about the tiny cottage like 
rabbits in a warren ; their mother was never seen 
without a baby in her arms, and usually in addition 
a small garment to mend or make. She was 
engaged one evening early in the winter on a 
minute pair of corduroy trousers, destined to become 

230 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the property of Joey, when Mark, the second son, 
burst into the kitchen and flung himself down on 
a bench in front of the fire. 

" What mishtiff hast thee bin up to now ? " 
inquired Mrs. Welsh, who was ready for any 
delinquencies on the part of her unruly off- 
spring. 

" Ain't a-bin up to nairn, bin to chapel." 

" Where's our Manniwel ? " 

" Dunno ; not long o' Greenaways', fur when he 
meets she, you can year silence. Our mother, 
Jake Cassel wur a-tellin' I, as we came home to- 
night, as how Manny said a manes to 'list fur a 
sojer termorrer." 

The poor woman uttered a cry of dismay. " Our 
Manny to goo an' be shot at an' kilt ! But I'll 
buy 'un off," with desperate decision. 

" A sez a wun't be boughten off," continued 
Mark, who evidently relished the effect of his com- 
munication. " 'Tis all along o' that girl — she's a 
consee-quence little hussy, a very consee-quence 
little hussy." 

Thus it came about that, despite his mother's 
tears and his father's commands, Manny found 
himself the following day enrolled as a private 
in the — th regiment of the line, having walked to 
the station and taken the train to the nearest 
barracks. Contrary to the usual custom of recruits, 
he refused to go home to show himself in his 
clothes ; he had his photograph taken however, as 

231 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

they all do, and sent it with no small pride to his 
mother, who in turn exhibited it to her neighbours 
amid a chorus of admiration. 

" Lor, 'ow nice he do look ! I shouldn' ha knowed 
'un wi' them fine clo'es an' his 'air parted sa fine 
an' smoothed over his for'ed — ther's his elma an' all. 
Well, you oughter be proud of 'un, Sairey Welsh, 
an* I meks no doubt but wot you be." 

Em'ly Jane was almost the only person in the 
village to whom the likeness was not shown, and 
though she professed perfect indifference concerning 
it, she would cheerfully have parted with her best 
Sunday hat to secure a peep. Her hints and 
cajoleries were in vain ; Mrs. Welsh guarded her 
treasure jealously from the girl who had " druv my 
poor bwoy to be a sojer." 

When Manny returned the following autumn 
on his first furlough, the scarlet tunic made 
the village green quite cheerful, and proved a 
centre of attraction to the children and youths. 
Em'ly Jane, whose fickle sergeant, after having 
corresponded with her for some months, had finally 
married another girl, took to walking up and down 
street when that vivid spot of colour was anywhere 
within sight, but the smart recruit was apparently 
more proof against her charms than the plough- 
boy, for Manny, though his eyes followed her 
wistfully, made no overtures of reconciliation, and 
sat quite square in church without letting his looks 
wander in her direction. 

232 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

During the year that intervened between his first 
and second term of furlough, Em'ly Jane discovered 
that Manniwel was more to her than Chance ever 
had been, or could be. She resolved that she 
would make an effort to recover the affection which 
she had " prized not in the having," and when the 
young man again appeared in the village, this time 
with a stripe on his sleeve, she went boldly up to 
him holding out her hand. Manny gravely saluted, 
looked at the hand, but did not offer to take it. 

"Won't you let bygones be bygones, as you once 
said, and be friends with me again ? " she asked 
tremulously. 

" No, Miss, I can't be friends with you " — he had 
dropped his dialect for the regular barrack accent — 
" I can't be friends, but if you're willin' I'll — walk 
out with you." 

And so the old sweet bondage began once more, 
but this time with a difference. Now it was 
Em'ly Jane who pressed for marriage, and he who 
hung back, saying he must get his colonel's leave, 
and that he wanted to win a step before he took 
a wife, " for I go to school reg'lar, and am trying 
to read and write a bit better so as I can get on 
to be a sergeant by-and-by." 

The less compliant she found him the more 
Em'ly's love increased, as is the way with women, 
so that when the order came for him to proceed 
on draft to India, where the other battalion was 
stationed, the pain of parting seemed more than 

233 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

she could bear. They walked down to the station 
with him, she and his mother, but the girl could 
not trust herself to sav farewell before strangers, so 
at the stile in the last field she stopped, kissing her 
lover again and again, and clinging to him until, 
in his anxiety lest he should miss the last train and 
blot that clean sheet of which he was so proud, he 
put her gently aside and hastened away down the 
road. At the corner he turned, but his eyes were 
dim and he could only just make out the little figure 
under the trees ; there was the flicker of a white 
handkerchief, the watcher at the stile saw a red 
one waved in reply, then the scarlet tunic vanished 
round the bend, and with it Em'ly Jane's best hope 
of happiness. 

The first letter, with its strange postmarks, with 
Private Welsh's number and his company officer's 
initials on the envelope, was an event in her life, for 
epistles from India were not as common then as 
they have since become in the village. " To think 
o' that bit o' paper comin' all them hunderds an' 
hunderds o' miles acrass the sea ! 'tis a wunner as 
he yen't mildee'd wi' the damp, bein' sa long on the 
water," remarked Mrs. Greenaway to a neighbour 
who had dropped in for a gossip. " Read 'un out, 
gal, ther's nothen but wot arra-body med year." 
Thus adjured, Em'ly cleared her throat and began — 

" Dere emly, i hops this fiends you well, As it 
leaves me at Present. I likes Over here very Well ; 
all the men is Black, there is No Lions and tiggers, 

234 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

but sum snaks, i ain't seen none but the other men 
says They have. dere Emly, we wears wite does 
when its more hot, cos its alwais hot here and the 
flys is anuf to eat you. and Now I must Conclude 
with much love from Your lofing manny. i thinks 
and thinks on you emly. don' you never furget your 
own trew luv. x x x x x ." 

Poor Manny, he had not advanced very far along 
the path of learning, but his letter was none the less 
precious for its misspelt words. 

The neighbour was duly impressed with his 
literary skill, and spread through the village the 
surprising intelligence that " over ther', wher' Man- 
niwel wur gone, the men all turned black an' wore 
no clo'es, so I reckon he'll be a nigger when a comes 
'ome, an' he sa fair when 'e went away. Well, well, 
'tis a comacal worruld, an' ther' be some rum folks 
in 't ! " 

Emmanuel had been three or four years in India 
when the war with the Afridis broke out, and his 
regiment was one of those ordered to the front. 
He wrote in high spirits at the prospect of seeing 
service, but his mother could not sleep for thinking 
of her boy, and his sweetheart crept about the 
house with a wistful look in her grey eyes. 

She was sitting listlessly by the fire one evening 
in midwinter, when the postman's quick footfall 
was heard on the flagged path. The girl sprang 
up and ran to the door. " A letter for me, mother, 
from India ; do bring a light." She deciphered the 

235 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

words, written in pencil by the camp fire, with some 
difficulty, glancing impatiently from time to time at 
the feeble flickering flame of the solitary candle. 
" Why, there's a coffin in the wick ; let me snuff it 
out." As she did so she added with apparent in- 
consequence, " I wonder what Manny's a-doin' now. 
I should dearly like to know." 

Ah, Em'ly Jane, little did you reck that at that 
moment your lover was lying face downward on the 
cold earth ! Swiftly out of the darkness had come 
the messenger of death, to find the sentry at his post. 

Was he thinking of his home in far-away England 
when he fell stricken without a cry, of the little 
thatched cottage on the green, of the sheltered 
meadows by the brook, of the long line of rolling 
Downs where he had ploughed and sowed and 
reaped year in, year out ? Who can tell what 
thoughts were his ? He died at his post, for his 
country ; and his name is numbered among those of 
whom it may be said that they did their duty. 
What higher meed of praise can be accorded to 
prince or peasant ? 

His comrades brought his body into camp, and 
when they stripped off the uniform that he had 
been so proud to wear, and that had cost him so 
dear, they found on his breast a letter from home, 
stained scarlet with his life blood. 

Em'ly Jane has wooers still, but she keeps company 
with none of them and folks say she is hard to 
please. She cannot forget a bloodstained letter 

236 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

which came back to her from across the seas, and is 
now one of her most cherished possessions. She 
remembers how cheerful the green used to look 
when that bright spot of colour haunted the strip 
before her door, and she wakes at night to find her 
pillow wet with tears. For in dreams he comes 
back to her, her soldier lad whom she sent to his 
death, and who lies so cold and solitary in his 
narrow bed among the great mountains that stand 
like sentinels guarding his sleep. 



237 



Chapter XV 

OUR several "lone " houses are set down in the 
most varying situations ; one nestles cosily 
amid the sequestered meadows of the Vale within 
sight of the railway ; another stands up, unsheltered 
by bush or tree, on the very summit of the Downs. 
Church, school, shops and doctor are luxuries hard 
of attainment in the ordinary course by the tenants 
of these remote dwellings, for the existence of which 
it is sometimes hard to find a valid reason. "They 
med ha' dropped straight out o' the sky by the way 
'urn be stuck about — dwun't sim rightly to b'long to 
narra parish, but just to anywheres, which be same as 
no'ers," quoth an unwilling exile from the village 
who found the isolation a convenient peg whereon 
to hang a grievance. As a rule the inmates of lone 
houses do not feel their lot a hard one : on the 
contrary they appear to think that the fact of 
living thus apart confers upon them some subtle 
distinction. " We 'udn't bide in that ther' gossipin' 
village, not if you paid us fur't ; wher folks mindes 
everybody's bizniss 'cept their own, an' you can't 
step up your coort or round your garden wi'out all 

238 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the place chatterin' on't. It medn't be wunnerful 
lively year, but 'tis quiet an' peaceable, which is 




A LITTLE BIT OF GOSSIP BY THE WAY. 

moor nor what it be down ther'." We of the village, 
hearing such remarks, are tempted to retort that the 
speaker rates her own importance and our powers of 

239 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

observation over highly ; yet the words contain a 
fragment of truth as all exaggerations do. Eyes 
that have long been accustomed to the loneliness ot 
the hills or outlying fields, are apt to become dazzled 
by the glare of publicity attendant on life in even so 
small a township as ours. Nor is publicity the only 
evil : the noise of passing carts, the neighbours' 
chatter, the shouting and laughter of the children, 
the sense of personal restraint, of being hemmed in 
by houses — there may be as many as half a dozen 
within speaking distance — all these things are irk- 
some to the solitary who craves for the quietude and 
freedom he once enjoyed. 

A rather pathetic example of this was given by 
a young married couple whom I will call Snell. 
The wife was born in one of two distant cottages 
tucked away amid the folds of the Downs, and here 
she grew up — a shy wild creature who walked the 
two miles to school when the fancy seized her, which 
could not have been often, for on my visits to the 
house I invariably found her sitting in the chimney- 
corner doing nothing, "just like a lady," as the 
people ignorantly say. The mother suffered from 
a bad leg, and her only neighbours being a couple of 
farm-lads who lodged in the two-roomed " cot " close 
by, she could not be very severely censured for pre- 
ferring to keep her daughter at home instead of 
sending her to service. When the girl was barely 
seventeen she married one of the lads who was 
perhaps a year older than herself, and the two 

240 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

children — they were little else — set up housekeeping 
in the empty cottage adjoining that of the parents. 
The arrangement worked happily. The grandmother 
with the bad leg nursed the babies which soon began 
to arrive, and the daughter still sat in the paternal 
chimney corner when not engaged in " tidying up" 
her house or cooking her husband's dinner. But 
the young couple's employer had occasion to remove 
them to a village in the Vale where the conveniences 
of life lay under their hand, and for a while I lost 
sight of them. 

The old people found it " terble unked wi'out 
the childern" ; they had never known till now that 
the place " wur a bit lonesome." Nor were the 
Snells better pleased by the change : they were 
not at home in a village ; they felt " stived up " 
among so many buildings, the shackles of civilization 
lay heavy upon them and they pined like caged birds 
for their native hills. Great, therefore, were the 
rejoicings on both sides when the young people 
returned once more to the old home. The hus- 
band brought back with him a racking cough which 
he had acquired " down there," but he would 
" soon get rid on't," he said, now that he " bid no 
longer in that hole." Poor fellow ! he never lost 
the Vale's unwelcome gift ; the pure air for which 
he had longed, failed to cure him, and under the grip 
of his fatal malady he grew weaker and thinner 
until he was little more than a skeleton. He 
was always patient, and there was something very 

241 Q 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

touching in his gentle tolerance of the youngest 
child's demonstrative caresses which must have 
sorely tried his feeble strength. Of the village to 
which he believed he owed his illness he would 
say — " I didn't like the people nor the place nor 
aught about it 'cept the parson ; he wur lovely — ah, 
he wur a beautiful man ! " I never learnt why the 
poor invalid was so enthusiastic — not liking to 
press him on the point, but I have often wished that 
the clergyman could have known how gratefully he 
was remembered. Such encouragement is not too 
common in rural parishes. 

Mrs. Snell no longer has leisure to sit in the 
chimney corner. After her husband's death she and 
her parents clubbed their resources and removed to 
another "lone house" near the Ridgeway. Two 
of the four children are entirely dependent upon her, 
and she supports them and herself by field-work — 
reaping, haymaking, weeding, bird-scaring and such- 
like. She is often to be seen trudging down to the 
village to fetch her parish allowance of bread ; 
a weary journey she finds it, especially during 
winter, when mud, rain and snow have to be faced. 
It is hard to recognize in the brave cheery woman 
who contrives with her scanty earnings to keep her- 
self and her children so neat, the whilom slatternly 
girl. For Mrs. Snell has profited by the uses of 
adversity. 

As far as book-learning is concerned, her educa- 
tion, it must be confessed, is somewhat deficient, 

242 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and her parents being even more illiterate, the 
filling up of the recent census paper was a source of 
much labour and anxiety to the whole household. 
The grandfather did his best with "the thing," but 
he was " no scholerd " ; he hoped it was all right ; if 
it were not, " they" — meaning the authorities — " 'ud 
ha' to put up wi't." His doubts about the success 
of the family's efforts were amply justified by results. 
His birthplace he gave as " England," and in his 
care not to understate his age he returned it as 
two hundred and six instead of some seventy odd 
years. He at least had not found time winged. 
With his wife also it goes haltingly and well it 
may, seeing that for the greater part of her life she 
has been a martyr to her leg. The changing seasons 
form her only variety ; she seldom sees a fresh 
face, her infirmity precludes her from walking and 
a ride in wagon or cart is a pleasure to be dreamt 
of, rarely enjoyed. 

When I saw her soon after Christmas, she plain- 
tively said that she had not crossed the threshold 
nor spoken to any one outside her own family 
except myself, during the last thirteen weeks. 

The mother of one of our farmers had a similar 
experience. She was taken as a bride many years 
ago to a lonely house called Thrush's Farm, which 
lies among the lower fields. For two months after 
her marriage the young wife did not see another 
woman, and the state of the ground was such that 
she could not venture beyond the courtyard. Six 

243 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

good horses stood in the stables, but all six were not 
sufficient to pull a cart through the mud of the farm- 
road. The house was a mile from the village, 
and a mile of stiff mud some two feet deep is an 
impassable barrier. 

I was wandering one day in the meadows near 
this undesirable residence when I met a widow 




•^ •• vV( »m\.l .Hit- "iW- '^ 

■ » * . f > ' 

THE LONE HOUSE ON THE DOWNS. 



whose son had lately extricated himself from an 
awkward scrape by emigrating to Queensland. On 
my asking after the culprit I was assured that he 
had " got acrass the water all right," and was 
"torrablish an' comfer'ble over ther'." " Don't you 
go fur to think, dear mother," he wrote, "as I be 
downhearted, cos I ben't. The very first night I 
come off the ship I went and had a jolly good 

244 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

drunk ! " This piece of news was a wonderful 
solace to the mother. " If that ben't just like poor 
'Lija," she murmured ; " he alius wur sa sperrity ! " 
She was an honest hard-working soul herself, but 
unfortunate in her sons, who are all more or less 
mauvais sujets. One became a soldier and after a 
long spell of foreign service took his discharge at 
Halifax, N.S., where he made up his mind to settle, 
having already married a young woman who " came 
from those parts," to use a rustic idiom. He re- 
turned to England to claim his arrears of pay and 
created a small sensation by suddenly appearing in 
the village, for he had not thought it worth while to 
write to his mother beforehand of his coming. She 
was working in the fields when a neighbour brought 
her the tidings that her son had arrived. Patty told 
me the story of how she received the announce- 
ment. 

" Three or fower on us wur pickin' squitch near 
the bruk when I years some 'un a hollerin' at ma, 
an' ther' wur Harriet as lives nex' dooer, beck'nin' 
to ma wi' her hand. ' You be wanted,' sez she ; 
' your Teddy's come home.' Arra one could ha' 
knocked ma down wi' a feather when I yeard that. 
' Our Teddy come home ? ' I sez wi' my heart all 
gvvine flippety-flop like a girt bird inside ma. ' Aye, 
he be a-waitin' outside your house this blessed 
minute.' 'Tother oomans wanted to knaw what wur 
up, but Lor' bless 'ee, I didn't stay to chatter wi' 
they — my Teddy wur a-waitin' fur ma — so I set off 

245 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

runnin' as fast as I could cut wi' my apern on an' 
my weeding pockut tied round ma. The squitch 
fell out as I ran, but I just let 'un lay. I niver 
stopped to pick 'un up ; an' you med think as I 
didn't tek long a-gettin' home to my bwoy." 

Teddy ill repaid his mother's affection. He re- 
mained in England about six weeks, living the 
while on Patty, who could barely support herself, 
and departed as suddenly as he had come, after 
"borrowing" the few shillings the widow had 
managed to put by for the coal club. He was not 
allowed to escape scot free however. His elder 
brother's wife happened by accident to see him 
striding, bundle in hand, up the village on his way 
to the station, and divined that he intended " making 
off unbeknownst," as she put it. Darting after him, 
she accused him, in tones that brought all the neigh- 
bours to their doors, of stealing his mother's hard- 
earned savings. Teddy, thus shamed before his 
little world, unwillingly refunded the money he had 
borrowed, but could not be induced to contribute a 
penny towards the cost of his food during his stay. 
Patty shakes her head now when she speaks of her 
son, and says mournfully : " A didn't trate ma well, 
didn't our Teddy ; but ther', he be my bwoy when 
all's said an' done ! " 

In the Vale, rather nearer the railway line than 
Thrush's Farm, is a second homestead, tenanted by 
a cowman and his wife who are employed by a large 
farmer to attend to the dairy and poultry. When 

246 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

we were children Leaze Farm of all our picnic 
places was the best beloved. Its attractions were 
innumerable : besides the farmyard with its mysteri- 
ous barns, and huge straw ricks up which we clam- 
bered and slid down again, there were the more 
alluring joys — unattainable elsewhere — of tangled 
woods haunted, so rumour said, by a no less awe- 
inspiring beast than a wild cow ; and sedgy ponds 
where blue dragon- flies flashed to and fro, and wide- 
eyed forget-me-nots grew among the rushes. If 
these pleasures palled, there still remained the noble 
sweep of the Great Western, with its straight gleam- 
ing rails linking the two horizons, and the breathless 
rush of the expresses thundering out of space to dis- 
appear into it again, or the more measured passing 
of a goods train that " like a wounded snake dragged 
its slow length along." 

The farmhouse stood in an orchard, from which 
a wooden bridge flanked by a rustic bench, led 
across a ditch to the flower garden and the front 
door. The dwelling was only a superior cottage — 
" built when Adam was a little boy," as our people 
say when they wish to convey a powerful impression 
of age, but its lean-to dairy, its diamond-paned 
windows and creeper-covered walls made it singu- 
larly picturesque. Inside it was as snug as a house 
could be. The parlour was a perfect museum of 
jugs, cups, wondrous vases, weird china images and 
pictures of strange and fearful hues. Among the 
latter were two — one of the late Queen as a child in 

247 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

a pony chair, and one of the Princess Royal, which 
for sheer ugliness would be difficult to surpass. 

I cherish grateful memories of that parlour and of 
how good it was to gather there in the firelight for 
tea after a long day's skating on the railway ponds. 
We were a large, hungry party on these occasions, 
and the demands we made on Mrs. Hands' larder 
would have appalled any less courageous house- 
keeper. The eggs used always to be brought to 
table in basins, their appearance recalling a story 
of an English matron — a connection of mine — in 
Paris, whose French accent was not acquired there. 
She ordered as she imagined, a modest couple of 
cenfs ct la cogue for her own and her husband's 
breakfast, and was puzzled to account for the 
look of astonishment, quickly suppressed, which 
flitted over the hotel waiter's face. It was her turn to 
show surprise when he reappeared bearing a tureen 
filled with boiled eggs, which he placed before her. 
" Voila, Madame /" he said, stepping back in ex- 
pectation of some word of praise at his ingenuity. 
I nstead of bestowing this the outraged lady demanded 
an explanation. ''Madame a dit douse ceufs a la 
coque" said the waiter with a deprecatory gesture, 
" et fen at apporte' douze seulemcnt!' 

It was in a lane not far from Leaze Farm that 
the following authentic fragment of rustic wooing 
was overheard. The amorous pair had sat some 
time without exchanging a word when the lady 
broke the silence : 

248 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" John," quoth she, " why doesn't 'ee say sum- 
mat ? " 

John reflected. " 'Cause I han't got nothen to 
say," he replied. 

Again there was silence, and once more it was 
the woman who took the initiative : 

" John," she inquired tenderly, "why doesn't 'ee 
tell ma that thee loves ma ? " 

" 'Cause I've telled 'ee that afoor," answered John, 
who evidently disapproved of vain repetitions. 

But the lady was tenacious of her privileges and 
not easily daunted. 

" John," she asked for the third time, " why 
doesn't 'ee grimma a kiss ? " 

The tardy wooer pondered long. 

" I be gwine to presen'ly," he said at length, and 
at this point the historian of this veracious tale 
removed for obvious reasons out of earshot. 

A few years ago the pretty old house in the 
orchard was burnt down. The fire occurred on 
Ascension Day, when the bells were ringing to 
evening service, and no sooner was word brought to 
the village than every man, woman and child who 
could set one foot before the other, hastened to the 
scene of the disaster. By some mysterious means 
the few people already in church learnt the news 
and changed their minds as to the desirability of 
attending service just then. Church, they reflected, 
can be had at any time ; whereas a fire, the sight of 
an acquaintance's house in flames — and on such a 

249 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

glorious evening ! — may occur but once during a life- 
time. Reasoning thus, they melted away to disap- 
pear by side paths where they would not meet the 
parson. The latter as he laid his hand on the door 
was greeted by the clerk, who might have quoted 
the words of a youthful fellow sexton in an adjoining 
county : " Please, sir, there be o'ny one congreega- 
tion in the church an' he's a she." He confined 
himself however to remarking that " they'd all flod 
off to the fire, so he'd gin up pullin' the tinker," as 
we call the hurry bell in our part of the world. 

Before very long the clerk also was speeding to 
join the goodly company at Leaze Farm. The fire 
originated in a beam behind the chimney, and the 
cottage being old, burnt like tinder. A few of the 
household goods were saved, but only a few. The 
feather beds, the bureau that many a lady would 
have coveted, the high-backed Windsor chairs, the 
curious crockery — all perished, and poor Mrs. 
Hands — stripped of those countless odds and ends 
which, though often intrinsically valueless, mean so 
much to a woman and bulk so largely in her concep- 
tion of home — had to begin life afresh as it were, 
when she was already descending the hill of middle 
age. 

Another cottage arose from the ashes of its 
predecessor — run up almost before the ground had 
time to cool ; it is a red brick building which, from 
the moment you enter the orchard, stares you in 
the face with an aggressive vulgarity that closer 

250 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

acquaintance does nothing to mitigate. The 
creepers that covered the old walls, perished in the 
fire, the flower garden has been removed to the back 
of the house and the rustic bridge has vanished. 
The loss of her pretty home seems to have robbed 
Mrs. Hands of much of her former housewifeliness ; 
the spring of her energy is strained ; she says it is 
not worth while trying to keep "this poor little 
place tidy," and one cannot help sympathizing with 
her disgust at the change. She consoles herself 
with the belief that she will not "have to put up 
wi't long," and as each summer comes round, she 
expresses anew her surprise that it finds her still at 
Leaze Farm, " for last winter I were that bad I 
did think as I must ha' died." Her existence is 
somewhat of a struggle, for her size, never incon- 
siderable, increases with years and her health at the 
best of times is " very middlin'." 

In one of our now untenanted lone houses there 
dwelt for a short time a couple who were described by 
their intimates as " ter'ble comacal, both on urn." 
Johnny lived by his wits and had lax ideas on the sub- 
ject of game and property laws. He drew no fine 
distinction between meum and tuum save when such 
was necessary for the safeguarding of his own interest, 
and if during his prowls, nocturnal or otherwise, he 
chanced upon a loose bit of paling, a gatepost that 
obviously needed support, or an indiscreet fowl that 
had strayed from home and safety, he would annex all 
and sundry, carrying home his booty unabashed upon 

251 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

his shoulder in the sight of the whole village. 
Johnny was an inveterate poacher and roamed the 
fields at all hours of the day and night. The 
weapons of his craft were chiefly wire snares and 
nets at the manufacture of which he was very skilful. 
Often was he to be seen sitting on the green outside 




AN OUTLYING FARM. 



his door busily engaged with shuttle and twine on 
one of the large nets that are used for sparrow- 
hawking, called also bat-fowling, which was one of 
his sporting pursuits. He contributed little or nothing 
to the support of his wife and family, but lived in 
great comfort himself, leaving them to " scrabble up " 
the necessaries of life as best they could. It was 
not until the infirmities of age crept upon him and 

252 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

his hand lost its cunning - , that he began to feel the 
pinch of want, and he then proposed — all the 
children being now creditably settled — to appropriate 
poor Keziah's earnings. The relations between the 
pair had long been anything but amiable ; this last 
piece of selfishness however, brought affairs to a 
crisis. After a stand-up fight in which the man 
proved victorious, Kizzy declared that she would go 
into the " House " rather than support her husband 
any longer. 

" I be sick an' tired an't," she cried, "an' I wun't, 
I wunt', I wurit gie 'un another penny as long as I 
do live. He screws an' scruples ma down till I can 
scarce kip body an' sowl together, but I 'ull chate 
'un," shaking her fist at an imaginary Johnny ; " I 
'ull goo up to the House an' he shall ha to work fur 
hisself." And to the "House" she went, being 
the only case I recollect of a village woman 
voluntarily asking admission. 

The last time I met old Johnny he had been a grass- 
widower about a year, and people said that though 
he carried a bold front to the world he did not at all 
appreciate the discomfort of his position. I was 
walking along a high grass path when I saw him 
coming over the brow of the hill from the direction 
of a spinney in which doubtless, some of his snares 
were laid. Three or four women were at work in 
the field close at hand, and they also perceived the 
old poacher. 

" Hey, Johnny," they cried, glad of any break to 

253 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

vary the monotony of their occupation, " wher' be 
off to then ? " 

" What be that to you ? " he retorted ; " I comes 
an' I goos wher' I've a mindt wi'out chatterin' about 
it to a passel o' oomans." 

"How do 'ee manage to scamble along wi'out 
Kizzy ? " pursued his interrogators. " Us yeard as 
you were in the House along of she ; be you a-gwine 
this winter ? " 

" No, I ben't," he flung back at them as he ploughed 
his way over the rough ground ; "no, I ben't! I'd 
soonder goo to — " naming a locality popularly 
supposed to be a hot place — " than to the House." 

" Ha-ha ! " laughed the women ; " I 'udn't talk 
like that if I was you, Johnny, 'cause sich comes 
back sometimes on arra-one ! " but he was already 
out of hearing. 

The old loafer had few friends, and the Guardians, 
hardening their hearts, would allow him no outdoor 
relief. During some months he fought stoutly 
against cold and semi-starvation until he was compelled 
to submit and follow his wife to the " House." 
When she heard of his arrival she pleaded that they 
might live in separate wards, for said she, "I've had 
anuff o' he, an' I reckon we 'ull kip better friends 
apart ! " 

Both have since died in the workhouse. Their 
children, who are all earning honest livelihoods in 
various parts of England, would not suffer them to 
be buried at the expense of the parish, but fetched 

254 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

the bodies from the pauper mortuary and had them 
decently interred in the village churchyard. 

The couple represented a type that happily has 
disappeared ; they belonged to a past generation, and 
no greater proof could be given of the moral and 
material progress made by the village during the 
last fifty years than the contrast between the 
poacher's mode of life and his children's, which is as 
cleanly as his was sordid. 



255 



Chapter XVI 

AT the foot of the Downs, near the spot where 
Town-brook takes its rise, nestles a hamlet 
embosomed in trees. The little settlement, which 
consists now of a few cottages and an ancient Manor, 
has declined in importance of recent years like many 
other rural settlements throughout England. It 
once numbered among its inhabitants three families 
of substance who were distinguished in the old parish 
books by the rare prefixes of Mister and Mistress. 
One of these families bore the undignified name of 
Tlibb, and against a member thereof are writ down 
in the register the words, " Reputed gentleman " — 
causing a wonder to arise as to what manner of 
slight this individual could have passed upon the 
clergyman to be thus branded with the doubt for all 
posterity. Another of the hamlet's dead and gone 
worthies was the knight Sir Oliver Greenway, who 
during part of Queen Anne's reign filled the post of 
churchwarden. It was while he was in office that 
a vestry meeting was held at which the parishioners 
there assembled agreed to " refer the debate be- 
twixt the village of in the County of Berks 

256 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and the said parish of B in the County of Wilts, 

to William Wright, Esq. (one of Her Majestyes' 
Justices of Peace for the County ofOxon), fully to 
determine betwixt ym to w ch of ye said parishes 
Elizabeth wife of John Higgs does of right belong. 

Witness ye hands ." Then follow the signatures 

of the chief people present, the list ending with 
"the mark H of Hugh Smith," which is the most 
conspicuous object on the page. 

The records do not state how the controversy 
began, nor whether it raged around Elizabeth 
Higgs' dead or living body. Considering that it 
was deemed of sufficient importance to be referred 
for arbitration to a magistrate of an adjoining county, 
the obvious inference is— human nature being frail 
—that a question of money was involved therein. 
Sir Oliver's family was already settled in the 
village, actively engaged in marrying and giving in 
marriage, when Queen Bess ascended the throne, and 
during more than two centuries they retained their 
position and estates, imposing their name on a portion 
of the place where they dwelt, which name is still in 
use, and filling the various public offices of church- 
warden, overseer of the poor, and "supervisor of the 
highwaies," with commendable zeal. Gradually, how- 
ever, the knight's descendants dwindled in numbers 
and dignity, until those who are left, work as labourers 
on the land their forefathers owned. 

The Tubbs, of whom I shall have more to say later, 
were reduced to a solitary representative, while the 

2 57 B 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

third family named Pope cannot show even this much, 
since it has died out altogether. Indeed extinction 
generally seems to be the fate to which the entire 
hamlet is doomed, if one dare judge the future by 
the past. House after house disappears; barns are 
pulled down, no new ones arising to supply their 
absence ; the pound has vanished and of what were 
formerly a gentleman's mansion and garden nothing 
remains save a palatial pigeon-cote, built of the 
bricks and stones from the house, a clump of daffodils 
and a fragment of the wall that bounded the 
enclosure. 

A hundred or more years ago the mansion stood 
in a pleasant well-timbered field high above the 
stream, and afforded accommodation for the invalids 
who resorted thither to seek healing in the bethesda 
at the foot of the terrace, where a warm spring 
used to come bubbling up from below before the 
bank had been cut away and the brook profaned 
after the manner described in my opening chapter. 

A native of the hamlet whose father and grand- 
father had there lived out their days, and who both 
possessed "wunnerful good reemembrances," told me 
that he had often heard the former talk of the bath 
near the " whirllypool," which last he himself had 
beheld as a boy. " It steamed like a furnace it did, 
an' all the water quimpled an' b'iled somethen cur'ous. 
I did use to like watchin' it chuck the little stwuns 
in the air and kip 'urn flyin' round a-sif it 'udn't gie 
'urn no rest." By this restless fount was supplied the 

258 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

bath which was built in what the speaker just quoted 
called a "nuck" or hollow, where the chalk rock 
retreated in a rude semicircle. Thither the patients 
would wend their way, descending from the house 
and threading the willow grove at the head of the 
stream, while the rustics looked on agape. Some of 
those who were cured, occasionally showed their 
gratitude by revisiting the spot which had proved to 
them in truth a " House of Mercy." It is half a 
century since the last patient drove across the hills 
to view once more the remote village where during 
her distant youth she had found health and, in 
token of her thankfulness therefor, to distribute 
gifts of money among the poorer inhabitants. 

Like the bathing establishment, over which lat- 
terly a certain Dr. A presided, the " whirlly- 

pool " would now be difficult to find. The widening 
of the stream's bed and the silting of the soil have 
choked the gushing jet and reduced it to quies- 
cence ; the laying bare in the interests of the 
watercress of many new cold springs has cooled 
its ardour. The water no longer " quimples " — a 
beautiful word, compounded evidently of quiver and 
dimple — and " biles " within the nook, but creeps 
away in silence as if ashamed of its present slavish 
state. The one thing of note that the hamlet still 
can boast is the Manor House — at once its pride 
and raison d'etre. The handsome rambling old 
building abounds in cupboards behind the wains- 
cot, in odd steps and superfluous corners, in 

259 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 
panelled rooms and all the necessary machinery 
wherewith to construct secret chambers and ghosts 
galore The smaller portion dates back to bhza- 




A FORGOTTEN VALLEY. 



bethan times, and it is probable that this contained 
some hidden means of egress, for those were 
troubled days, and men when they built their 

260 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

houses knew not to what strange uses they would 
be put. There are several tales connected with 
the old wing, that which treats of Sir Nicolas 
Howse and his wife Lady Betty being one of the 
earliest and certainly the most graceful. For the 
benefit of two Bostonians who had found their way 
to the village, I filled in the framework of the bare 
tradition with a few additional details, and set the 
story forth in order, so that the visitors having 
seen the Manor, might read the legend ; which they 
did one summer day when sparkling drops bedewed 
the lawn, and all the flowers — lilac, and laburnums 
pink and golden — drooped their heads, heavy with 
moisture after a morning's rain. Do my friends 
remember the steamy June afternoon, I wonder? 
If not, these lines may serve to recall it to them 
should the latter meet their sight, as perchance they 
may, for from Berkshire to Boston is not the far 
cry that at first thought it appears. 

The incident I am about to relate happened 
during the Commonwealth. Life in our unim- 
portant village flowed on for the most part as 
calmly throughout the stormy period of the Re- 
bellion as though the land were not reeling beneath 
the shock of civil war, and only a few miles away, 
beyond the hills, blood was being spilt and lives were 
being laid down on behalf of two such widely different 
ideals. The records show that, with the exception 
of a short interval from 1644 to 1646, vestries were 
regularly summoned and parish officers elected as 

261 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

usual, and when in 1656 the old parson died, after 
holding the living for fifty-seven years a successor 
was at once appointed who possessed the qualifica- 
tions of Master of Arts and Fellow of his college. 

It would be .difficult to say which side the bulk 
of the villagers favoured, but whatever were their 
predilections, Sir Nicolas Howse of the hamlet 
Manor held openly for the king. He appears to 
have fought in the earlier stages of the struggle, 
to have returned home, and having either through 
interest or insignificance escaped denunciation as 
a malignant, to have taken a wife and eschewed 
further publicity. When Charles II crossed the 
Border at the head of Lesley's Scots, the fighting 
instinct awoke anew within Sir Nicolas' breast ; he 
rode off to join his sovereign, taking with him the 
farm-servants that lodged in his house, and Lady 
Betty was left in the lonely Manor under the care 
of a trusty old retainer, James Viner and his deaf 
wife Joane. 

The anxious weeks during her husband's absence 
passed doubtless all too slowly ; little news from 
the outside world could have filtered down to the 
far-removed spot, and there being few neighbours 
of her own degree near at hand, Lady Betty's social 
intercourse must necessarily have been restricted. 
She sighed as she sat spinning in the oak parlour 
one September evening, for a few days since a 
hawker had brought word that the Royalists had 
been defeated with great slaughter by Cromwell 

262 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and his Ironsides at Worcester, fifteen hundred of 
the king's men having been taken prisoners. Of 
Sir Nicolas nothing certain was known ; some said 
he was among the slain ; others that he had been 
captured and summarily executed as a traitor to 
the realm ; others, again, that he had escaped like 
Charles from the battlefield and was in hiding — 
small wonder therefore that Lady Betty sighed ! 
She had thrown a cloth over her wheel and was 
preparing to retire when she heard a tap on the 
deep-splayed window that looked into the garden — 
a tap so light that she thought an ivy branch had 
struck the glass. The sound was repeated, and 
this time she whispered through the shutters, "Is 
any one there ? Who is it ? " 

Softly came the answer back — " It is I, Nicolas ; 
let me in." 

She unbarred the casement and two minutes later 
the knight was seated in the elbow-chair by the 
fire contentedly watching his wife as she flitted 
hither and thither laying out such cheer as the 
larder could afford. " I must try to reach the 
coast, and thence cross to France," he said, when 
he had recounted his escape from the battle and his 
subsequent wanderings. " I may not with safety 
remain here more than a few days, since Parliament 
is scarce likely to let me off scot free a second 
time." 

" Dear heart, would you leave me again so 
soon ? Why not stay ? No one need know of your 

263 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

presence. James and Joane would cut out their 
tongues ere they would betray you," 

" The wounded hare seeks its form, and the 
stricken bird makes for its nest. This is the first 
place they would seek me in, wife. Are there 
Roundhead troops in the village ? " 

" A party arrived yesterday, so Limping Ab- 
salom told James." 

" Even as I said : they reckon to run me to 
ground in my own earth." 

Two days passed, the hours not lagging now 
for Lady Betty, who shrank from the thought of 
parting again with her husband. On the third 
morning she was feeding her pigeons before the 
house, and the tame creatures were wheeling about 
her, perching on her shoulder and eating from her 
hand, when beyond their snowy flutterings she 
caught the glint of steel flashing along the road 
that led to the village. 

"The soldiers are coming! Hide, hide!" she 
gasped, flying to warn Sir Nicolas, and she had 
but just descended to the oak parlour before the 
trampling of horses, the jingle of accoutrements 
were heard without. 

" Open ! " cried a harsh voice, as the owner thereof 
smote upon the door with the hilt of his sword ; 
" open in the name of the High Commonwealth of 
England ! " 

" What is your will, sir ? " inquired Lady Betty, 
her head very high but her heart full of fear. 

264 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" Madam, my orders are to search the house and 
premises, the Parliament having reason to suspect 
that the rebel Sir Nicolas Howse is concealed here. 
I will also, by your leave, speak a word with your 
servants." 

"My husband is no rebel, but a faithful follower 
of his Majesty King Charles II," retorted the lady 
hotly. " As for questioning my domestics, you will 
do that, I trow, leave or no leave." 

The cornet, after ordering his men to search the 
farm buildings and to extract all possible infor- 
mation from the labourers in the adjoining cottages, 
summoned the two old servants and inquired when 
they had last seen their master. Joane was deafer 
than usual to-day. " Eh, what do a say ? " she 
asked. 

" Have 'ee a-sin the measter ? " shouted John. 

" Have I a-sin 'un ? Why, the man must needs 
be a fool ! Didn't I nuss 'un when a wur a babby ? " 

11 When did you last see him ? " 

" Nay, sir, I never asked to see 'un ; I could 
alius see 'un wi'out askin'." 

" When did you last behold Sir Nicolas ? " bawled 
the irritated officer, who longed to resort to means 
more forcible than words. 

" Body o' me, what a noise you maketh ! Do 'ee 
want to split arra-one's head ? Mine be all niddle- 
noddlin' a' ready wi' your clatter," and Joane began 
to whimper and wipe her eyes with the hem of her 
gown. 

265 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" You are not deaf nor dumb either," said the 
cornet, turning savagely on James, who removed 
his hat and rubbed his head in an attitude of deep 
thought. 

" I seed Sir Nic'las in June, afoor hay harvest," 
he said at length. 

" Do you mean to affirm that he has not been 
here since — within the last few days ? Beware lest 
you be found trifling with the Parliament's officer, 
old man." 

But — " I seed 'un in June, afoor last hay harvest," 
was all that could be extracted from James, and the 
baffled interrogator, finding his questions produced 
no result, called two of his men and ordered them 
to search the house. 

Upstairs and downstairs they clattered and 
tramped, prying under beds, looking into cup- 
boards, striking the walls with their sword-hilts to 
hear if the wainscot rang hollow, even descending 
into the cellar and searching an apparently useless 
shaft which this contained. Their labour, however, 
proved fruitless ; no trace of the fugitive could 
be found. The trumpet pealed a shrill note, the 
troopers came running from outhouse and stable, 
which they had searched also in vain, and when 
they swung themselves into the saddle, my lady 
began to breathe freely once more. The cornet 
gathered up his reins, but ere giving the order to 
march he turned and scrutinized the front of the 
mansion, as though his eyes would fain pierce its 

266 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

thick walls. While he gazed a sudden inspiration 
struck him. 

" What lattice is that ? " he asked, pointing to a 
window so small that it was well-nigh unnoticeable, 
high up in one of the gables. 

" 'Tis the winder of my lady's closet where she 
keepeth her gowns an the like," replied James. 

" How came you to overlook it ? " was the 
officer's stern question, and the men to whom it 
was addressed shook in their shoes, or, to be more 
correct, in their jack-boots. " I will see this same 
closet," said he, springing from his horse and has- 
tening upstairs. He looked everywhere for the 
door, but it was so cleverly concealed in the panel- 
ling that he was obliged to call James to his assist- 
ance. When it swung back, it revealed a low, 
dimly lighted cupboard, where on the oak floor 
three or four people of moderate stature might 
stand half doubled together. It contained a couple 
of boxes, a pile of household linen awaiting the 
wash, and some dresses hanging from nails against 
the wall. The Parliamentarian bent his tall head 
and passed through the small doorway ; he stamped 
on the boards which rang true, and smote on the 
whitewashed walls, and ran his sword through the 
gowns, while Lady Betty watched him in quivering 
silence. But no one could lurk behind those stabbed 
skirts, since they did not reach to the ground by 
a foot. The prize the Roundhead coveted was not 
there, and he rode away disappointed. 

267 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" He ! he ! " cackled Joane, shaking - her fist at the 
retreating file of soldiers — " he ! he ! ther' be none 
sa deaf as them who wun't hear ! " 

" They've yet to larn that Berksheer folk bent 
sa saft as 'um looks," remarked old James, with a 
wink ? 

But where was Sir Nicolas ? you will ask. Come 
with me to the cupboard again, and look behind the 
dresses. There, two feet or so from the floor, is 
a narrow slit, into which if a man can just manage 
to creep, he will find himself on a low broad shelf 
scooped out of the thickness of the wall and running 
far back to a point above the entrance to the cellar. 
" The hiding hole," as the people call it, is still 
to be seen at the Manor. In the recess lay Sir 
Nicolas, having escaped discovery for the time ; 
but his wife, so anxious before to detain him, now 
declared that from henceforth she would know no 
peace until he were safely out of the country. 

That same afternoon two riders issued from the 
avenue before the main entrance, and turned their 
horses' heads towards the downs that lay imme- 
diately to the south. One of the pair was young 
and sat erect in his saddle, his long cavalier love- 
locks streamed over a laced riding-coat, a ring 
flashed on his ungloved hand. The other stooped 
as though from age ; his hair was cropped close to 
his head, his face was besmirched, his clothes were 
ill-made and of coarse hodden-gray cloth. Like 
his master, he wore a rapier, and a brace of horse- 

268 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

pistols was stuck in his belt. The travellers' in- 
tention was, if possible, to cross the open tract of 
downland between the hamlet and Newbury before 
darkness fell, and then to push on with all speed to 
the coast in the hope of finding a boat the same 
night that would put them over to France. For 
the first half-mile of their journey their way lay 
along a hollow lane where they were effectually 
hidden from sight. On leaving this they emerged 
on the bare hillside, and here it behoved them to 
keep a sharp lookout in case of being seen and 
pursued. They had not ridden a mile when one 
of them glancing back, saw the steel caps of two 
troopers rising above the rounded curve of the 
down. 

"They are after us!" he cried, clapping spurs 
to his horse, and the ride for life began. The 
fugitives seemed to be reserving their strength, for 
they kept their steeds well in hand, checking rather 
than urging them to their full powers. The soldiers 
on the contrary thundered along at the top of their 
speed, and soon began to gain on Sir Nicolas and 
his companion. 

" Let us smite them, brother Malachi, let us 
smite them hip and thigh," quoth Trooper Mathew, 
and " Halt, or we fire ! " responded Malachi. 

The two men in front bent to the saddle-bow, as a 
couple of bullets whistled harmlessly over them, and 
raced forward until they reached the Ridgeway. 
Here the cavalier apparently lost his head; he 

269 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

struck off to the right, galloping wildly along the 
old road towards the west. 

" This way, master, this way ! " cried the servant 
who still held due south for Newbury ; his words 
however, fell on deaf ears. 

For a moment the troopers were perplexed and 
drew rein to take counsel. 

" Do thou follow the master while I catch the 
man," said Mathew. 

" Not so," answered Malachi, who was but a 
machine ; " our orders were to ride in company lest 
perchance one should be slain." 

On therefore they sped behind Sir Nicolas ; mile 
after mile they spurred their lagging steeds, yet 
they could not overtake the flying figure nor come 
within firing distance of those floating curls. 

At length the cavalier's horse began to give signs 
of weariness ; from a gallop it subsided into a trot. 
The sun had long since set, the quiet stars shone 
forth and the moon was rising round and red above 
the golden stubble. 

" Halt, or we fire ! " rang through the stillness, 
and this time the command was obeyed. 

"A pretty dance the ungodly youth hath led us," 
orumbled Malachi, as they set out towards the 
hamlet. 

The prisoner spoke never a word, but gripped 
his saddle, swaying from side to side like a drunken 
man. About a mile from the Manor he would have 
slid to the ground had not Mathew caught him. 

270 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

11 By Gideon's pitcher 'tis a woman ! " cried the 
soldier as hat and wig fell off disclosing Lady 
Betty's fair head. 

"And the servant was Sir Nicolas!" exclaimed 
Malachi, ready to gnaw his hands for rage. 

" Whither are you taking me ? " inquired the 
lady on recovering from her swoon. 

" To our cornet ; he will belike know how to 
deal with such a baggage," returned her captors 
grimly. 

" But not in this garb ! Suffer me first to change 
it. Moreover I am faint and must rest — you also 
require refreshment." 

" Time enough for that when we have seen our 
officer ! " 

" Five minutes, only five minutes ! " pleaded Lady 
Betty, who began to exhibit symptoms of hysteria. 
This last clinched the matter. Malachi and 
Mathew could face cannon undaunted, but not a 
female in hysterics. 

" Joane, set bread and meat before these good 
men, and draw them a flagon of sack a-piece," 
cried the lady briskly as she re-entered the house. 
The troopers were thirsty and the wine was wel- 
come. They could hear Lady Betty moving about 

overhead, and — and When they woke in the 

morning, the house was empty, the birds had all 
flown. Then they remembered that the sack had 
tasted somewhat strange. Their cornet's language 
on learning the double trick which had been played 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

upon them, was not such as befitted a godly man. 
But rave and rage as he might, he could not secure 
the offenders, for- they had escaped beyond the sea, 
to return in happier times when the king enjoyed 
his own again. 

o 



272 



Chapter XVII 

SOMEWHERE about the beginning of the 
eighteenth century the Manor came into the 
possession of the Tubbs who greatly enlarged the 
old house, and added a Oueen Anne's wing - that 
includes a wide stone-paved hall, a beautiful carved 
staircase and a second wainscotted parlour. They 
seem to have been people of fashion, for to the 
best bedroom was attached a "powder-closet," where 
ladies in hoops and patches submitted their heads, 
and bucks in brocade their wigs to the hairdresser, 
who manipulated them in the well-lighted cupboard 
that the larger room might not be dusted by the pow- 
der. The mansion — for to that pompous-sound- 
ing title it now might fairly lay claim — doubtless 
exercised the usual country-house hospitalities then 
in vogue, and we can well imagine it the scene 
of hunt breakfasts, of card and supper parties at 
which would be gathered such society as the neigh- 
bourhood could offer, the gentry being dragged 
thither in their ponderous coaches through the 
miry lanes. 

People in those days must have possessed extra- 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

ordinary capabilities in what I have heard described 
as the " knife and fork line," and must have lived 
not wisely but too well, judging from an ancient 
book of recipes which I and my sister unearthed 
from a lumber-chest in an attic at the Manor. It 
originally belonged to the grandmother of a dear old 
friend of our childhood and contains directions for 
every imaginable culinary contingency from roasting 
a plain joint to making muffins. One Richard 
Briggs compiled it, who was for many years cook at 
the White Hart Tavern, Holborn, the Temple Coffee 
House and other taverns in London. Aware of 
the difficulty of his task, he submits it with " Defer- 
ence and Respect, conscious that Errors will creep 
into the best Performance and that the only Merit 
I can claim is that of having corrected the Mistakes 
of former Works and added the most useful Im- 
provements derived from my own Practice and 
Experience." 

When Mr. Briggs tells the housekeeper, bent on 
making muffins, to " take a bushel of white Hert- 
fordshire flour, three gallons of milk-warm liquor, a 
quart of mild ale and half a pound of salt," one begins 
to wonder whether a tub will suffice in which to 
mix the ingredients. The majority of the recipes 
throughout the book are on the same lordly scale — 
there is nothing small or mean about the late 
Temple Coffee House cook. Here is one of his 
soups — called Almond Soup. 

*' Take three pounds of lean veal and two pounds 

274 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

of scrag of mutton, cut them small and put them 
into a soup-pot with four quarts of water ; when the 
scum rises, skim it well and put in two turneps, two 
heads of celery, two leeks all washed well and cut 
small, and two blades of mace ; boil it gently until 
half is reduced, season it with salt and a little 
Cayan pepper ; blanch half a pound of sweet 
almonds, beat them in a mortar, and as you beat 
them, put in half a pint of cream to keep them from 
oiling ; strain your soup to the almonds and rub it 
through a fine sieve ; put it in your pot again and 
make it hot, but do not let it boil ; have ready three 
small French rolls about as big as a tea-cup, blanch 
a few Jordan almonds, cut them lengthways, and 
stick them all over the tops and sides of the rolls ; 
put your rolls into your tureen and pour the soup 
over them ; these rolls looks like hedgehogs and 
the French cooks term it hedgehog soup." 

For Spanish Pea Soup he says : — " Get a pound 
of Spanish peas and put them in water the night 
before you use them ; then take three quarts of soft 
water and one of sweet oil ; make them boil, then 
put in your peas with a head of garlick ; cover your 
pot close and stew it gently till the peas are soft ; 
season it with pepper and salt ; beat the yolk of an 
egg in a little vinegar and put in ; stir it well, fry 
some large sippets in butter, and put them at the 
bottom of a soup-dish ; poach six eggs and lay on 
the sippets, then pour the soup boiling hot over." 

The following " Common Plumb Porridge for 

^75 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Christmas " combines quality with quantity in a 
manner quite after Master Briggs' heart. 

" Take a leg and shin of beef and cut them small 
and put them into eight gallons of water ; when the 
scum rises, skim it well ; boil for six hours, then 
strain it into a pan ; clean out the pot and pour your 
broth in again ; slice the crumb of six penny loaves 
very thin, and put some of the broth to them ; cover 
them up for a quarter of an hour and then give it a 
boil up, and rub it through a sieve ; have ready six 
pounds of currants well washed and picked, four 
pounds of jar raisins picked and stoned, and two 
pounds of pruens ; boil' all these in the soup till they 
swell and are tender, then put in half an ounce of 
mace, half an ounce of cloves, and two nutmegs, all 
beat fine ; mix them in a little cold broth first, and 
then put them in with four pounds of sugar, two 
quarts of sack, and the juice of four lemons ; boil it 
up ten minutes, keep it stirring, then put it into 
earthen pans and put it by for use ; when you want 
it, make it hot and send it in a soup-dish or tureen 
with crispt French bread." 

Immediately below this is a recipe for Portable 
Soup which requires, along with many other in- 
gredients, three legs of veal, one of beef and ten 
pounds of lean ham, all to be boiled down until it is 
as stiff as glue. " This," says the author compla- 
cently, " is a very useful soup for travellers or large 
families ; for by putting one small cake into a pint 
of boiling water, and giving it a boil up, it will make 

276 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

a pint of good soup. It possesses one good quality, 
it never loses any of its virtue by keeping if kept in 
tin boxes in a dry place." 

Some of the made dishes rejoice in singular 
names, such as Barbecued Pig, which is broiled suck- 
ing-pig dressed with " Cayan pepper" ad libitum and 
Madeira wine, and garnished with barberries ; " a 
sirloin of beef in epigram" also sounds strange. 
" Oxford John " is nothing more formidable than 
highly seasoned mutton collops, and " Bombarded 
Veal" probably tastes better than its name would 
seem to promise. To the last is appended a note — 
" This is a beautiful dish, for when it is cut across, it 
looks of different colours," and in case some of my 
readers may feel a curiosity on the subject of 
bombarded veal I herewith give the recipe, praying 
those who possess a soul above eating — if any such 
there be — to skip these few pages. 

" Take a nice small fillet of a cow calf, cut out the 
bone and some meat out of the middle and make the 
following forcemeat : take half a pound of lean veal 
(the veal you cut out), half a pound of beef suet, half 
a pound of fat bacon and the crumb of a penny loaf 
soaked in cream ; beat it well in a marble mortar, 
season it with beaten mace, nutmeg, pepper and salt ; 
chop a little parsley, sweet herbs and lemon-peel, and 
put in ; mix it up with the yolk of four eggs, then 
fill the hole in the middle with this forcemeat, and 
with a sharp knife make holes through the fillet, fill 
one hole with forcemeat, another with stewed 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

spinach chopped fine, another with the yolks of eggs 
the same as for egg balls ; truss it as tight as you can 
to keep in the stuffing ; put it in a deep stewpan with 
a quart of gravy, half a pint of white wine, a bundle of 
sweet herbs, and half a pint of fresh mushrooms; cover 
it close and stew it for three hours, then take up the 
veal, skim the gravy and take out the sweet herbs ; 
put in a piece of butter mixed with flour, a sweet 
bread cut into pieces, some truffles and morels and 
two artichoke bottoms cut in four ; boil it up till it 
is thick and smooth, and squeeze in the juice of a 
lemon ; have a roll of forcemeat boiled, cut it in 
thin slices, put the veal in the dish, pour the sauce 
over, lay the slices of forcemeat round it and 
garnish with lemon and beetroot." 

Mr. Briggs' imagination does not soar to any 
great heights on the subject of puddings ; he has no 
fewer than seven preparations of rice all very much 
alike and six of bread. The only original recipes 
that I can discover are those for cowslip, spinach, 
and tansey pudding, none of which sound inviting 
except perhaps the first. 

" Get half a peck of cowslips, pick the flowers off, 
chop and pound them fine, with a quarter of a pound 
of Naples biscuit grated, and a pint and a half of 
new milk or cream ; boil them all together a little, 
then take them off the fire ; beat up the yolks of 
eight and the whites of four eggs with a little cream 
and a spoonful of rosewater ; sweeten it to your 
palate ; mix all well together, put it over a slow fire, 

278 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

keep it stirring till it is thick, and then set it away to 
cool ; lay a puff-paste round the edge of the dish, 
pour in the pudding and bake it half an hour ; when 
it is done, sprinkle some fine powdered sugar over it 
and send it to table hot." 

Italian Pudding is as follows : — 

" Lay a puff paste over the bottom and round the 
edge of the dish, pare and slice twelve pippins and 
lay in it ; cut some candied orange-peel fine and 
throw over them with a quarter of a pound of sugar 
and half a pint of red wine ; take a pint of cream 
and slice some French rolls very thin into it, as 
much as will make it thick ; beat up ten eggs well 
and put into the cream and bread, pour it over the 
rest and bake it in a moderate oven." 

Among the recipes for pies, of which the book 
contains a goodly number, are directions for a 
" Swan Pie," that recall those sets of Indian boxes 
packed one inside another. First you take a fowl, 
stuff it with veal and bacon and lay it in the breast 
of a Q^oose ; this a^ain is to be inserted in the swan, 
which is then to be placed in a dish, covered with 
crust and surmounted by a swan modelled in butter; 
or should the cook be unequal to the creation of this 
work of art, by a wax model which can be pur- 
chased. 

" There is a great deal of work in this dish," 
concludes the author plaintively. 

11 Yorkshire Pie for Christmas " is very like the 
foregoing, except that it contains an even larger 

279 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

number of " boxes " which include a turkey, a goose, 
a large fowl, a partridge and a pigeon all fitting one 
inside the other. It might reasonably have been 
supposed that these were sufficient for one dish ; 
but no such thing ! A hare, six woodcock, some 
moor-game or small wild-fowl are to be laid around 
the turkey, and the whole is to be enclosed within 
ramparts of crust, for which a bushel of flour and 
ten pounds of butter are directed to be used. It is 
significant that at the end of his book Mr. Briggs 
gives a recipe for " Surfeit Water," and that among 
the herbs from which it is distilled rue and worm- 
wood find a prominent place ! He adds that the 
water may be made at any time of the year in 
London, because the ingredients can always be 
bought there — a piece of thoughtfulness, which he 
who makes the late Temple Coffee House cook's 
rule of life his own will not fail to appreciate. 

The reign of the Tubbs at the Manor was not all 
mirth and feasting — the picture has a grimmer side. 
Their money squandered, the two representatives 
of the family came to bitter words which led as 
usual to blows. Tradition asserts that one brother 
was foully done to death by the other in what has 
since been known as " Tubb's cellar," beneath the 
Elizabethan wing. Here is the shaft already alluded 
to, for which no purpose has yet been discovered. 

For the last fifty years and probably for long 
before the opening has been masked by boards 
supported on stout joists : the lower extremity, 

280 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

according to a labourer who explored it when 
employed as a youth about the farm, seems to trend 
towards the head of the cellar stairs above which is 
the recess where Sir Nicolas found safety, but any 
connection there once may have been between the 
two is now effectually blocked. Into this shaft the 
body of the murdered Tubb is said to have been 
cast ; and be the legend true or false, the cellar has 
by some means acquired an evil reputation for 
ghostliness. In the first half of the century, when 
it was the custom for unmarried farm servants to 
lodge beneath the master's roof, the dreaded dungeon 
was utilized as a place of punishment for refractory 
carter boys, and dismal tales the latter would tell on 
their return from Limbo of the horrid sounds that 
had assailed their ears. Whether the noises were 
due to spiritual visitants, to the imagination of the 
captives or to the homely agency of rats must be 
left undecided. 

I was talking about the old house to a woman 
who had been maid there before she married one of 
the farm lads, and on my asking her whether she 
had ever heard of the Tubbs she broke out with — 
" Oh, please, miss, don't mention them wretched 
Tubbs ! I had more 'n anuff o' they when I was 
servant at the Manor. Many's the time I've bin 
down to draw the beer for supper, an' up the stairs 
agen I've flown, leavin' the tap runnin', 'cause I 
could ha' sworn I heard the two brothers creepin' 
up behind me as I stood by the cask." 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

The timid Hebe however, could not plead guilty 
to having noticed any definite sound or seen aught 
more terrifying than a toad. Neither did it appear 
from her account that the spirits took advantage 
of the numerous opportunities she afforded them 
of refreshing themselves from the barrel. The en- 
trance to the old cellar has lately been built up ; but 
with all due respect for bricks and mortar, the ghosts, 
if worthy of the title, will not be deterred by such a 
flimsy barrier from visiting higher circles when the 
fancy seizes them. Though the key may be turned 
on a family skeleton, a family ghost, like the X rays, 
sets matter at defiance. 

As was to be expected of a race owning a murder 
for an heirloom, the Tubbs came to nothing : the 
Manor, with the lands appertaining, was sold, and the 
sole survivors of the name — -again two brothers — 
removed to one of their cottages in the village, 
where they lived together until their death. They 
seem to have been distinguished to the last by their 
lack of amiability — which, all things considered, is 
perhaps scarcely a cause for wonder — and the story 
goes that possessing little else about which to quarrel, 
they fell out over that apple of discord the fire and 
its management. Who knows but that the burning 
question might not have led to a second murder, 
had not an ingenious mediator devised a scheme 
whereby both parties should be satisfied ? Hence- 
forth the Tubbs sat back to back over the domestic 
hearth, each busied with his own particular little 

282 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

furnace — there being ample space for two on the 
broad stone — which he poked and replenished to his 
heart's content. 

This picture of their latter days reminds me of an 
anecdote respecting an elderly married couple, whose 
connubial bliss was marred by the unconquerable 
desire both cherished to obtain absolute control 
of the fire. Each resented the lightest touch laid 
upon it by the other, and their relations became at 
last so strained that they agreed to sit in separate 
rooms. 

For a short time harmony reigned between the 
pair ; gradually however, the thought of that other 
fire, to which his hand was forbidden to minister, 
drew the old gentleman like a magnet, struggle as 
he might against the attraction, to his wife's apart- 
ment and the wrangle began once more. 

My private opinion is that when apart the pair 
missed the excitement of the daily skirmishing, and 
were glad to plunge into the fray again. 

Of the Tubbs, one — -a " bachelor man " — remains 
in the village, and is remarkable for his peculiarly un- 
comely appearance and his skill as a cricketer, though 
as regards the last, he has now taken to living on 
his former reputation. 

The Manor-house has changed hands more than 
once since his ancestors sold it, and has seen a 
variety of tenants. Among them was the old lady 
who owned the book of recipes, and who when we 
were children, used frequently to invite my sister and 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

myself to "take a dish of tea" with her. These 
occasions were red-letter days in our lives ; we were 
allowed to range the house at will, to explore its nooks 
and crannies, and to gather what fruit we pleased 




THE OLD WING OF THE MANOR HOUSE. 



in the walled garden. The climax of our pleasure 
was to listen while " Grannie " — so we always called 
her — dived into her reminiscences of the past 
and brought forth treasures new and old for our 
enjoyment. She had a slim upright figure, and 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

soft pink cheeks framed by a row of white curls ; 
and the question long perplexed us whether the latter 
were due to nature or to art. We greatly desired 
to solve the riddle, but dared not broach the subject, 
for notwithstanding her gentle manner, there was 
an air of old-fashioned stateliness about our friend 
which ensured respect. Dorcas the housekeeper 
was also well advanced in years (though her 
mistress always spoke to her of " your young 
eyes ") and the array of cakes and strange preserves 
with which she would load the table for our benefit 
was bewildering by reason of its variety. Many 
of them, like " Conserve of Red Roses," were made 
from the old book which says — " Take rosebuds, 
cut off the white part from the red and put the 
red flowers and sift them through a sieve to take out 
the seeds ; then weigh them and to every pound of 
flowers take two and a half of loaf sugar ; beat the 
flowers very fine in a marble mortar, then by degrees 
put the sugar to them and beat it very well till it is 
incorporated together ; then put it into gallipots, tie 
it over with paper, over that a leather and it will 
keep seven years." The preserved peaches owed 
their excellence to the same source. " Take the 
largest and finest you can get," directs Mr. Briggs, 
" not over ripe ; rub off the lint with a cloth, and 
run them down the seam with a needle skin 
deep ; put them in a jar, and cover them with 
French brandy ; tie a bladder over them and let 
them stand a week ; make a strong syrup, boil and 

285 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

skim it well ; take the peaches out of the - brandy, 
put them in the syrup and boil them till they look 
clear ; then take them out, mix the syrup with the 
brandy and when it is cold pour it over your 
peaches ; tie them down close with a bladder and a 
leather over it. You may put peaches into a deep 
jar or glass, cover them with French brandy and a 
spoonful of the brandy with a slice of the peach is 
very fine in punch. A pine apple is very fine cut 
in slices and covered with fine old rum, to be used 
in the same manner and it will keep a long time." 

Of Dorcas's cakes I can give the recipes of two 
or three which particularly struck our fancy. 

Portugal Cakes. — " Mix into a pound of fine 
flour a pound of loaf sugar pounded and sifted ; 
then rub it into a pound of sweet fresh butter until 
it is thick like grated bread; then put to it two spoon- 
fuls of rose-water; two of sack, ten eggs well whipped 
with a whisk ; then mix into it eight ounces of 
currants and mix all well together ; butter your tin 
pans, fill them but half full and bake them. If they 
are made without currants they will keep half a 
year ; add a pound of almonds blanched and beat 
with rose-water and leave out the flour ; these are 
another and a better sort." 

Saffron Cake. — " Take a quarter of a peck of 
fine flour, a pound and a half of fresh butter and 
six eggs well beat, a quarter of an ounce of cloves 
and mace beat well together very fine, a little cinna- 
mon, a pound of powder sugar, a spoonful of rose- 

2S0 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

water, a pennyworth of tincture of saffron, a pint 
and a half of yeast and a quart of new milk ; mix 
it all together lightly with your hands thus — first 
boil your milk and butter, then skim off the butter 
and mix with your flour and a little of the milk; 
stir the yeast into the rest and strain it, mix it with 
the flour, put in your spice, rosewater, saffron, 
sugar and eggs ; beat it all well up with your hands 
lightly and bake it in a hoop or pan well buttered ; 
it will take an hour and a half in a quick oven." 

" Nuns' Cake " is as follows, and I may remark in 
passing that if this be a sample of their ordinary 
food, the rule of fasting cannot be over strictly 
enforced in the convent. 

" Take four pounds of fine flour and three pounds 
of double-refined sugar beaten and sifted ; mix 
them together, and dry them before the fire till you 
prepare the other ingredients ; take four pounds of 
butter, beat it with your hand till it is as fine as 
cream ; then beat thirty-five eggs, leaving out six- 
teen whites ; strain your eggs through a sieve to 
take out the treadles and beat them and the butter 
together till all appears like butter : then put in four 
large spoonfuls of rose or orange flower water and 
beat it again : then take your flour and sugar, with 
six ounces of caraway seeds, and strew them in by 
degrees, beating it up all the time and for two 
hours together ; put in a little tincture of saffron to 
colour it, butter your hoop, put it in and bake it 
three hours in a moderate oven." 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

More even than Dorcas's cakes we enjoyed 
Grannie's stories : her life seemed to have been 
full of incident compared with ours, which at that 
period held nothing more exciting than the arrival 
of a fresh batch of puppies or kittens, the dis- 
covery of a stolen hen's nest and such like. Mrs. 

W was born when the last century was in its 

youth, and like Hannah with the " bad leg," who 
lived on the Millway, could remember the French 
prisoners at Cateswick ; indeed her own fate was ro- 
mantically connected with a certain Captain Legrand, 
a fragment of whose history she told us shortly 
after we made her acquaintance. The simple 
narrative seemed to bring those soul-stirring if 
troubled times so near, to add such a vivid personal 
touch to what had till now been sober lesson-book 
history to Jennie and myself, that the impression it 
left on my mind will never be effaced. Many years 
have passed since we sat on the hearthrug in the 
firelight, listening to Grannie's tale, but the scene 
and many of her words are still fresh in my remem- 
brance. We had begged as children do for "a 
story — not a fairy-tale" (we considered ourselves 
beyond these fables!), "but a true story about what 
happened when you were a little girl like ourselves." 
Grannie remained silent a few minutes gazing into 
the glowing embers, then looking round, she said, 
" Very well ; you shall hear of something which 
happened to me when I was even younger than you 
are : it was a very, very long time ago, but I think 

288 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

I can remember it," and she smiled as if amused at 
the idea that she could forget any of those far-away 
childish days from which, as they recede, the mists 
clear continually so that they stand out ever more 
sharply defined the older one grows. 



289 




-shere ij .»/ qnfi'cs , f/iafs for ifioug/xh 



Chapter XVIII 

"V/ r OU may not perhaps know, dear children," 
A began Grannie, " that I was born in this 
neighbourhood — not, it is true, in this village, but in 
another situated a few miles from Cateswick where a 
great Saxon king first saw the light. All through my 
childhood we were at war with the Emperor Napo- 
leon, that terrible man with whose name my nurse 
used to frighten me when I was naughty, as no 
doubt I often was ! ' Boney will come and take 
you,' she would say, until in my nervous dread I 
composed a special little prayer which I used to 
repeat to myself every night in bed, that God would 
keep wicked Boney from ever crossing the sea to 
carry off poor little English children. Ah, there 
were hundreds and thousands of hearts in England 
uttering that petition though possibly not in the self- 

290 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

same words ! When I was about ten years old I used 
to be allowed to drive with my father to Cateswick, 
when he went to attend the justices' meetings. I 
stayed at my aunt's house while he did his business, 
and many a happy hour I spent with her, learning 
a new stitch for my sampler, watching her make 
pickles and preserves, or sitting quietly on my own 
little stool spelling out ' Robinson Crusoe ' and 
1 Pilgrim's Progress.' During these drives we 
often used to meet the French soldiers whom Lord 
Wellington had taken prisoner and had sent to 
England. I cannot tell you how many there were 
at that time in the country, but the number must 
have been considerable ; they were scattered up and 
down all over the land, and even such a small town 
as Cateswick had its quota. They used to make 
baskets and cabinets which the neighbouring gentry 
bought as curiosities, and in this way the poor exiles 
earned a few shillings. The officers being on 
parole were allowed to walk out of the town along 
the various highroads as far as the third milestone ; 
when they arrived at that spot their limit was 
reached and they were obliged to turn back. Such 
a short distance it must have seemed to them after 
their lonof marches in the Peninsula ! There was 
one Frenchman whom we almost always saw : he 
was a tall gaunt old captain, and he would sit on 
the bank by the side of the road gazing towards the 
east with a look on his face which brought tears to 
my eyes — it was so wistful, yet so patient. 

291 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" One day my father when passing greeted him in 
his own language, and I should like you to have 
seen the smile which lit up those rugged features at 
the sound of his mother-tongue. On our return 
from Cateswick that afternoon we were surprised to 
see our friend the captain at the same spot ; he was 
evidently waiting to speak to us, for when we came 
near he sprang up and advanced into the middle of 
the road. Father reined in the horse and the old 
soldier, putting his hand to his shako, held out a little 
bouquet of wild flowers with the words — ' Pour la 
petite! I looked at father to know what I ought to 
do, and as he only smiled and nodded, I took the 
simple posy, wishing I were on the ground that 
I might make the donor a curtsey. You look 
surprised at that, children, but when I was young we 
were brought up to behave much more ceremoniously 
towards our elders than are young people nowadays. 
I was an only child and my parents rather indulged 
me on this account, for I was not treated like many of 
my little friends who dared not sit in presence of 
their father and mother without permission. But 
to continue my story — after the first breaking of the 
ice the captain would give me a bouquet whenever 
we happened to meet him. He had found out our 
regular day and hour for driving to Cateswick, and 
wet or fine, hot or cold, we were certain to see his 
tall form somewhere near the third milestone. He 
was much disappointed if by any chance I were 
prevented from accompanying my father, and would 

292 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

in that case send me the flowers and a polite mes- 
sage. 

" When winter came with its cold winds, and 
nipped the pretty blossoms, my friend, who could 
not afford to buy flowers, would bring me charming 
little posies of coloured leaves and berries, and 
thus our acquaintance went on during some three 
months. We learnt that the officer's name was 
Legrand, that he lodged over a little saddler's shop 
in the market-place, and that he appeared to be 
almost in a state of penury. His uniform was ex- 
ceedingly shabby, but it was free from every speck 
of dust ; his boots, if patched, shone until you could 
fancy that you saw your face in them, and he wore 
his weather-stained threadbare military cloak with 
the air of a prince. 

" One day a great event happened — there were 
not so many in my life at that time that I should 
not remember it, and though it took place seventy 
years ago and more, I can see it again to-day 
clearer than if it were of yesterday. Father and I 
were going to Cateswick, and my mother, who had 
been weak and ailing for some time past, gave me 
a message to take to the doctor, with instructions 
to bring back a bottle of physic. I recollect how 
she kissed me as she tied on my fur-lined hood, 
saying, ' Good-bye, my treasure, take care of the 
physic, and be careful when you are crossing the 
streets ; they are always full on market-day.' On 
the drive we did not see our friend at the milestone 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

as usual, and we wondered what had happened to 
keep him away. 

" ' Perhaps he is ill,* said father, ' or possibly he 
has been exchanged for one of our officers, and 
has returned to France.' The thought that we 
might never see him again made us both feel quite 
sad, and the drive that morning was a dull one. 

" When we arrived at Cateswick I went to the 
doctor's and waited while a draught was made up, 
then tucking the precious bottle tightly inside my 
muff, I made my way along the narrow street that 
led from the surgery to the market-place. In those 
days there were pavements in the main thorough- 
fares only ; when any vehicle came by, the foot- 
passengers had to cling to the wall to avoid being 
run over. I was tripping carelessly along when I 
heard a great clatter behind me and a posting 
carriage drawn by a pair of horses, dashed round 
the corner. In another instant I should have been 
knocked down and trampled under foot had not a 
strong arm come to my rescue. The captain was 
walking up the street in the opposite direction, and 
seeing my danger, darted forward, swinging me out 
of the way with one hand, while with the other he 
seized the bridle of the nearest horse. He was 
dragged along some yards before the frightened 
postillion succeeded in bringing the runaways to a 
standstill, and when my father, who had seen the 
whole occurrence from a distance, came up, my 
friend, a little white about the lips, was bowing 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and smiling, while one arm dangled helpless at 
his side. It was some moments before father 
found his voice ; he could only gather me to him 
and hold me very tight. Then he turned to 
the officer, and stretching out his hand, he said 
huskily, ' You have saved my only child at the risk 
of your own life ; come home with me and be my 
guest for the remainder of your stay in England.' 

" Captain Legrand shook his head. ' Ma parole, 
besides I am ill. Your fogs and rain gif me cold — 
[e toasse — during all the night.' 

" ' I will arrange the matter of your parole with 
the military authorities, and my wife will nurse you 
back to health,' urged my father. 

" The Frenchman twirled his great grey mous- 
taches ; a smile twinkled in the corner of his eye. 
' You will cure me dat I become str-r-ong to go 
fight against your Vellington vonce more ? Mon 
ami, you air-r too generous — you air-r not good 
patriot ! I desire no payment for what I haf done ; 
risk is the soldier's pleasure, and I also had one 
such a petite, but, alas ! I lost her and her mother 
both in the same year, when I was far away in that 
cursed Spain. Ah, mon Dieu \ both in the same 
year. Now I haf but my son Eugene, and I lofe 
your little one for the sake of mine who is gone.' 

" All my father's entreaties were fruitless. We 
could not persuade the captain to come to us, 
though my mother herself went to his dreary 
lodgings and begged him to do so. He received 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

her as if she were a princess, and thanked her for 
the honour she conferred on him in deigning to 
visit his humble abode ; but his term of imprison- 
ment, he said, could not last much longer ; he would 
certainly be exchanged before many weeks had 
elapsed. Poor old man ! he did not know that 
there were so many prisoners in the country of 
higher rank and greater influence than himself, 
that there was small chance of his returning to his 
regiment. He grew thinner and more gaunt as the 
winter advanced ; his cough became very trouble- 
some, and it was but seldom he was able to crawl as 
far as the third milestone. My mother grieved over 
his altered looks, and sent him a hamper of good 
things every week, also some syrup for his chest ; 
but I do not think he drank much of the latter, for 
later on most of the bottles were found unopened 
in his cupboard. 

"At last there came a time when the old soldier 
could not rise from his bed, yet he was still hopeful : 
' When the warm weather comes, I shall be well 
again and go back to fight,' he would say. We knew, 
though, that the sinewy right hand would never 
draw sword again ; that the only journey he would 
take would be the last long one from which there 
is no returning. When at length the truth dawned 
upon him, the craving to see his son before he died 
overcame every other feeling. ' Mon petit, mon 
petit,' he would cry until my tender-hearted mother 
could bear it no longer. 

296 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" ' I shall send for the boy,' she said one day to 
my father, ' and tell him to come at once if he 
wishes to see the old man a^ain.' 

" ' He is at a military school in Paris, and I very 
much doubt his getting permission to visit England, 
seeing we are at war with the Emperor.' 

" ' Surely Napoleon would not be such a pitiless 
wretch as to forbid a son going to visit his dying 
father ? ' exclaimed my dear innocent mother, so 
the letter to Eugene was despatched, and with it 
some money for his journey. A month passed, 
then another, bringing neither an answer nor the 
boy. The captain meanwhile grew rapidly worse, 
and we knew the end could not be far off. He 
expressed a wish to say farewell to ' la petite] so 
one day I went in with mother, and I remember 
the feeling of awe that came over me at sight of 
his face on the pillow : it was ashen grey, and oh, so 
thin ! There were great hollows in the cheeks, but 
the eyes smiled as kindly at me as ever. ' I could 
not die without seeing my little one again,' he 
whispered in a faint voice. At this I burst out 
crying and sobbed, ' Please don't die before he 
comes ; do wait a bit longer — he will be so dis- 
appointed ! ' The old man began to tremble till 
the bed shook under him. ' What does the child 
mean ? ' he asked. 

" ' She is a foolish little girl, and does not always 
quite know what she is talking about,' replied 
mother, who feared to excite the patient. 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" I remained silent and confused, aware of my 
mistake, when suddenly I caught the sound of light 
flying footsteps on the stair. A moment later the 
door was burst open, and a slim dark-eyed youth 
wearing a shabby uniform rushed in. ' Mon pere ! ' 
he cried, flinging himself on his knees beside the 
bed. " Monfils /' and the two, separated so long, 
were clasped in each other's arms." 

At this point I remember Grannie paused, and 
though we longed to know what would follow, we 
could neither of us steady our voices sufficiently to 
ask her to go on. Perhaps she understood, for 
presently she began again in her soft tones : 

" Captain Legrand died very peacefully, holding 
Eugene's hand in his. He never knew that the 
boy, not being able, as my father surmised, to obtain 
permission to visit his dying parent, had run away 
from the military college and had made his way 
to the coast on foot, walking during the night and 
hiding where he could during the day, lest his 
uniform should betray him, and he should be caught 
and sent back. My father, knowing that a heavy 
punishment must surely await such a breach of 
discipline, would not permit him to return to his 
native land after Captain Legrand's death, but put 
him to school in England for a year or two, where, 
on account of his nationality, he had to fight many 
battles, finally vanquishing his antagonists as much 
by his sunny forgiving temper as by his fists. 

" When peace was at last concluded all over 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

Europe, and the Emperor safely shut up in St. 
Helena, my father wished Eugene to go back to 
Erance, thinking that as the son of an old officer 
he might get a commission in the army, but my boy 
said No, he would rather fight for the country that 
had given him a home than for the one that had 
driven him out, so he entered a British regiment 
and was sent off to Canada, where he remained five 
or six years. 

" It was a sad day when he came down to bid us 
good-bye. My parents loved him as a son, while 

I • When I return you may perhaps be 

married,' he said to me, ' and I also, qui sail ? ' 
I did not like this speech ; indeed it so offended 
me that I ran away and hid myself among the nut 
trees, where I cried until I fell asleep. When I 
woke up he was gone without even a kiss ! " 

"Did you never see him again?" we asked. 
Grannie smiled and gazed into the fire as if she saw 
some pleasant picture there. 

" Five and a half years later he came home, and 
of course in that time we had had many letters from 
him. In some of them he spoke much about the 
colonel's daughter, how pretty she was, and how 
we should all love her did we but know her. I 
felt quite sure I should not. 

" One lovely morning in June I was sitting under 
the old apple-tree, shelling the first green peas — in 
those days we were taught to be useful, and I was 
not above lending a hand in the housework, though 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

my father was a justice of the peace — when I heard 
steps on the gravel. I did not trouble to look up, 
for, thought I, it is only old Peter the gardener; but 
some one came who halted in front of me, and his 
coat seemed to throw a scarlet reflection over the 
peas. I raised my head now, and saw my boy 
standing there, so tall and brave in the king's 
uniform, and with something in his eyes as he 
gazed at me that had not been there when he went 
away. 

11 ' Eugene ! ' I cried, jumping to my feet, while the 
basin fell on the ground and the nimble little peas 
rolled in all directions. 

" I thought he would throw his arms round my 
neck and kiss me as he always used to do when he 
came home for his holidays from school ; instead he 
only took my hands with a low bow and put them 
to his lips. 'Is this my little playfellow ?' he 
asked, still gazing at me with that strange look. 

" I could have cried with vexation ; to think of the 
many many times I had pictured his return, how I 
should run to meet him, and how he would put his 
arms round me and kiss me on both cheeks in his 
funny French fashion ! It was too hard that every- 
thing should be so different. I turned away and 
began to pick up my peas. ' Let me help you,' 
he cried, going down on the knees of his fine 
trousers. We gathered up the pods and I went 
on with the shelling while he talked. He told 
me of his doings in Canada, of his voyage home, 

300 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and how he had posted from Southampton all 
through the night to get to us the sooner." 

Grannie made such a long stop when she reached 
this part of her story that we were obliged to ask 
her to continue. 

" He had been home a week before the colonel's 
daughter was mentioned, then it was I who began to 
speak of her. We were sitting under the same old 
apple tree ; this time I was stripping rose leaves 
from their stem to make a pot pourri. ' And how 
is your colonel's daughter — are you not longing to 
run away and see her ? ' I asked, peeping at him 
from beneath my shady hat. ' May I tell you a 
story?' he said after a pause. I nodded, for I 
thought I knew what was coming, but as it turned 
out I did not. • There was once an orphan,' he 
began, ' who was very unhappy because he had no 
one in all the wide world to love him— father, 
mother, sister, all were gone. But he met a little 
blue-eyed girl and she said to him : ' Poor boy, I 
will love you ; we will play together and quarrel 
together, and make it up again, as if we were really 
brother and sister. You shall have my father and 
mother for your own, and even my country shall be 
yours.' Then the boy was happy because he had 
found everything that before he had lost. Years 
passed and he had to go far away, but he did not 
forget the little girl whom he had left behind— he 
often thought of his adopted sister. At last one 
day, one joyful day, he found himself at home again. 

301 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

He flew up the garden path and saw the most 
beautiful picture you can imagine, ready to greet 
him on his return. Under a spreading apple tree 
sat a golden-haired young princess in a white gown, 
which the sunshine that fell through the leaves, 
gemmed with points of light like diamonds. She 
was lovely as the dawn, and when he saw her his 
heart stood still with fear and reverence. All other 
women became as nought to him in comparison 
with her, and he thanked his kind fate that he was 
free to devote himself as her sworn knight to her 
service. He had lost his little sister a second time, 
but he had found much more, for he had found his 
queen." 

" Were you very pretty then, Grannie ? " we in- 
quired. She smiled. 

" Darlings, he loved me, and love sees beauty 
where perhaps much does not really exist." 

" And did Eugene marry his princess ? " 

" Yes, they were married and they were very, 
very happy " 

Our dear old lady paused once again, her silence 
seeming more eloquent than words, while we sat on 
the rug and wondered whether any one would ever 
call us princesses (my sister, I may say, ceased long 
ago to speculate on that subject, having solved it 
entirely to her satisfaction). 

" Where is he now, and how is it that you 
are not called Madame Legrand ? " we questioned 
presently, becoming tired of our own thoughts. 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" I will answer your second question first. When 
we married, Eugene took my name by my father's 
wish, who had no other son to carry it on. ' Where 
is he?' you ask. He is gone, children; gone 
like all the rest ! He gave his life for his adopted 
country, and died fighting shoulder to shoulder with 
his own people, for he fell in the Crimea. And I 
am left here still ! " 

She lay wearily back in her armchair, fingering 
her thin little wedding ring, while my sister and I 
stole away to where Dorcas was knitting by the 
kitchen fire. 



303 



Chapter XIX 

ON three sides of the hamlet the uplands stretch 
away north, east and west with never a 
hedge, nor a boundary stone, nor aught save here and 
there a thin line of trees, or a solitary spinney to break 
their undulating sweep, so that the fields run into 
one another in the friendliest way imaginable, corn 
rubbing shoulders with sweet-scented beans, and 
clover with purple vetches or crimson sainfoin. No 
charge of monotony can reasonably be preferred 
against a landscape whose tints, unlike those of a 
grass country, are ever changing, and which summer 
decks in an iris-hued robe. Of all the flowering 
crops sainfoin, called by some sangfoin from its 
blood-red tinge, is the most beautiful. Between the 
village and the downs rise a series of detached 
eminences, and one of these, a copse-crowned knoll, 
for a brief period in June rivals the pink heather- 
clad hills of Wales. Like a great ruby set amidst the 
encircling verdure it glows, flushing the very clouds 
which pass over it. Alas that its glory should be 
so short-lived ! To-day it is and tomorrow it falls in 
long swathes beneath the mower's scythe. Clover 

304 




305 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

and beans when in blossom strike a less distinctive 
note of colour ; but theirs are charms which appeal 
not merely to the eye, and he who has not listened 
on a drowsy afternoon to the humming of the bees 
among the one, and inhaled the fragrance of the 
other when honey-laden toilers come booming home- 
ward in the mellow twilight of a June evening, has 
yet to gauge the full measure of that richly dowered 
month's delights. Later in the year when summer's 
chaplet is withered and brown, a field of mustard 
blooming through the autumn is a welcome sight. 
Its counterpart — the weed charlock — I have known 
outlast the winter and continue into the spring, the 
bright yellow flowers being a veritable patch of sun- 
shine to which the eye gladly turned from the sombre 
sky overhead. It was on such a patch one mild day 
in February that some young lambs first discovered 
the world was larger than they had hitherto supposed 
it to be, and judging by their gambols on finding 
themselves outside the fold, the knowledge appeared 
to afford them extraordinary satisfaction. Let them 
frolic while they may ! Their light-hearted youth 
— should they escape the " bitter herbs " — is quickly 
spent, and ere long they will subside into like dull 
timid bleating creatures as their dams yonder. 
From the days of Homer downward the shepherd's 
" timorous flock " has been a favourite subject for 
the exercise of the poetic muse to which, doubtless, 
the helplessness of sheep appeals even more strongly 
than does the fact that they form a picturesque 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

adjunct to the landscape. The ordinary individual 
is accustomed to associate with this helplessness an 
absolute lack of intelligence, which negative quality 
he usually describes by the positive epithet " silly." 
Yet this, curiously enough, is the last a shepherd 
would apply to his charges. " Ock'erd " they often 
are in his opinion, "contrairy " too, and " wunnerful 
cunninV but stupid — never. I must confess that it 
required more faith than I can boast, to accept the 
statement made by an old shepherd that " ther 
ben't no two ship the same, neether in temper 
nor 'it in face. Ther be just as much diffrence, 
bless 'ee, atvveen they as ther' be atween you an' 
me." The speaker was Old William's brother, 
whom he greatly resembled, and seeing that to my 
inexperienced eye his charges looked all exactly 
alike, I felt inclined to dispute his last proposition. 

He proceeded to enumerate certain types of ovine 
character, beginning with the " stiddy 'uns as never 
wanders. " To these, in recognition of their virtue, is 
assigned the honour of wearing the bells, since they 
will not abuse the privilege by leading their com- 
panions out of bounds. At the other end of the 
scale come the " mouchers," who are only happy 
when they are enjoying forbidden pleasures and 
who, like " the giddy lamb " of my childish days, 
seize every opportunity of escaping from the insipid 
safety of the fold. I cherish a secret but most repre- 
hensible sympathy for the " mouchers" whose un- 
disciplined habits have brought discredit on their 

308 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

race since the beginning of time. If only they did 
not put their liberty to such base uses ! But 
when these woolly prodigals, quick to descry the 
smallest gap, by patient enlargement of the same 
have worked their way to freedom, they hie them 
straightway to the nearest field of ripening corn or 
sweet clover, where they browse with abundant zeal, 
small discretion and too often tragic results. " For," 
to quote the shepherd's elegant phraseology, " sich 
as they 'ull yut till 'urn bustes, when 'urn gets the 
chanst." This last ignoble trait is shared by the 
bullies, who however shun the rugged path of 
adventure and prefer to secure an additional allow- 
ance of food by the simpler process of thrusting 
weak comrades from the feeding trough, and fight- 
ing any friend suspected of possessing a bundle of 
hay larger than their own. The meek mothers of 
the flock call for no description : theirs is a placid 
law-abidine existence, the chief end of which is to 
raise successive families from year to year. 

One quiet autumn afternoon, when the land was so 
still that it seemed to have sunk already, the year's 
work done, into its winter slumber, I strolled across 
the fields whence the last sheaf had been garnered, 
which the last gleaner had forsaken, and leaning on 
the wattled cotes I watched the shepherd prepare 
the evening meal. He set out the shallow troughs 
or " cages " made of thin laths nailed closely together 
at the sides, filled them with hay and turned them 
over, so that what was the lattice-work bottom 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

became now the top, through the wide interstices 
of which the fodder could be pulled. The sheep 
meanwhile followed his every movement from the 
far corner of the fold where they had previously 
been driven, and as soon as the first cage was ready 
they began to sidle slowly towards it inch by inch, 
stretching their necks and sniffing wistfully at the 
fragrant clover hay. Ere long a lamb whose 
courage was as yet untempered with discretion, 
emerged from the throng, pushed forward by those 
behind who anticipated sharing the booty if not the 
danger, and advancing with a careless mien, con- 
trived to snatch a wisp from the nearest trough. 
Close at hand lay the dog — until this moment 
vigilant but motionless. Now however he raised 
his head, cocked his ears and looked toward his 
master for the expected signal. The shepherd, 
unwilling to resort to stern measures, tried expostu- 
lation — " Git out wi't, ullee ? Goo back, I tells 
'ee," he said, addressing the miscreant ; but finding 
the latter continued his depredations unabashed, he 
launched the bolt — " Ther's one on 'urn ; ketch 
howldt on he ; drive 'un off! " There was a flash of 
black and tan, a snarl, a bark, and before the lamb 
quite knew what had happened, it found itself 
hustled into the middle of its companions and flying 
helter-skelter to the extreme end of the fold, while 
the dog swept round now on this flank, now on that, 
to drive in stragglers. 

Time after time the little comedy was repeated, 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

until at length the last cage was filled. When the 
collie saw that the work was done, he slipped 
over the hurdles and sat erect, his head turned in 
the direction of home, while his master as he watched 
the flock crowd unreproved round the food, 
volunteered a few remarks on the training of sheep- 
dogs in general, and this one in particular. " I 
bought 'un when a wur a pup — guv five shillin' fur 'n 
I did, an' sence he've bin growed, I've bin bed 
two suv'rins moor times 'n I can ree-member. But 
I 'udn't part wi' 'un, not fur whativer, 'cause, luk'ee, 
if he be worth two suv'rins to a stranger, a be worth a 
deal moor to me as bred 'un from a pup an' teached 
'un what a knaws. He wur a good 'un to train, aim 
as tuk a deelight in his work. All I larned wur done 
by kindness — niver a stick ha'n't bin led acrass his 
back. Wi' this kind o' dog arra-one can do moor by 
kindness nor by be-uttin' of 'um — they be like oomans 
as must be spoke saft to an' humoured." 

The shepherd slung his basket on his back and 
like the collie set his face towards the village. The 
shadows were beginning to lengthen ; in the East 
evening was slowly drawing her veil over the open 
sunlit fields. Suddenly the sheep as if by common 
consent suspended their meal ; they lifted their 
heads and sent forth plaintive bleatings upon the 
stillness. Their ears, sharper than mine, had 
detected the presence not far away of another flock 
which a few minutes later came into view above the 
rounded curve of the upland. It was being led to a 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

fresh fold and hearing its friends' greeting, returned 
answer with voices and with bells that, mellowed by- 
distance, sounded sweetly through the fading day. 
When near, these last, it must be admitted, bear 
an all too close resemblance to the homely music 
produced by the application of a metal spoon against 
an iron tray, wherewith rustics are wont to titillate 
the ears of swarming bees. To any one who 
associates the tinkle with warmth and sunshine, with 
the humming of drowsy insects amid the scented 
lilac, the sheep-bells, heard perhaps for the first time 
across snowy fields, bring a quick leaping up of the 
heart, a vision of all the wonder and wealth of 
summer's high noon, that blots out for the moment 
the wintry landscape. During the lambing season 
many shepherds remove them from the necks of 
the yeaning ewes who are snugly ensconced in a 
yard littered deep with straw, or are folded behind 
hurdles padded breast high, and set in a sheltered 
corner round which the wind rages harmlessly. It 
happens sometimes that a mother dies leaving an 
orphan to be reared by hand, and this not in- 
frequently finds a home in a cottage, where it 
becomes a household pet. I have often seen a little 
woolly lamb lying on the hearth, usurping the place 
and privileges of dog or cat. Such a pet is pretty 
while young. When it attains any size it takes up 
more room than is convenient in a small kitchen, 
and requires more food than accords with its owner's 
straitened resources. It is turned out to find what 

312 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

provender it can along the roads, with the not 
surprising result that it raids adjacent gardens, and 
becoming an intolerable nuisance to the neighbours, 
is at length delivered over to the butcher. 

About the season of the year when " the hoar 
frost copies on the ground the outward semblance 
of her sister white," our shepherd, like him of whom 
Virgil's dark browed disciple sang, leads forth his 
little lambs to pasture. When buds begin to blow, 
and the sun shines on both sides of the hedge, the 
tinkle of bells is heard again in the fields and the 
young creatures dance to its music as they pass 
in and out of the pen through the gap-hurdle, 
their little black muzzles and legs twinkling among 
orange mangolds, of which they are allowed to 
eat their fill before the ewes are turned on. 
Country folk maintain that the smell of sheep 
is an antidote to disease and that it is healthy to 
walk round a fold. This may or may not be the 
case ; exhilarating it certainly is when larks are 
singing overhead, and the first faint flush of green is 
deepening and spreading on hedgerow and tree, in 
corn field and clover, to watch the frolics of the 
lambs and listen to their shrill bleatings and their 
dams' deep answering note. 

Accurate adjustment of the dimensions of the fold 
to the requirements of the flock is gained only by 
practice. Even experienced shepherds are liable to 
err in this particular, and will confess that on occasion 
they have enclosed too much or too little space. 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

There does not appear to be any definite rule of 
proportion between the number of animals to be 
folded and that of the hurdles to form their pen, and 
while most shepherds by a glance could say roughly 
how many sheep a fold contained, few could give 
even an approximate idea of its area. One man, 
partly to gratify my curiosity, partly to gratify his 
own which had been roused by my questions on the 
subject, took the trouble to count the hurdles inside 
which three hundred ewes and their lambs were 
enclosed with space enough and to spare. He 
found they numbered a hundred and twenty, showing 
that sheep are not extravagant in their demands as 
regards house-room. 

It was remarked to me by a Berkshire farmer not 
long ago, that though plenty of these useful animals 
may be reared nowadays, shepherds are dying out, 
and paradoxical as the statement at first sight 
appears, it nevertheless contains a measure of truth. 
There can be little doubt that as a type, distinguished 
by definite characteristics, this, like many another 
class of farm servants, is being educated out of 
existence. The external signs of the shepherd's 
calling have disappeared, the short blue or white 
linen jacket commonly worn by working men, 
has replaced his smock ; the long frieze coat, in 
appearance not unlike his charges' woolly fleece, 
wherewith till recent years he defied the stern 
breezes of this part of the country, has been doffed 
for — significant sign of the times ! — a military cloak. 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

His crook, at once the symbol of his profession and 
the instrument by means of which, according to 
popular belief, he checked the forward and "taught" 
the laggard members of his flock, has shrunk to a 
mere ash-plant, an insignificant walking-stick used 
to support his steps during his frequent journeys 
from the fireside to the fold, when he is leading his 
flock across the fields to pastures new or driving 
them, unwilling victims, to the neighbouring market 
town. But for his dog trotting meekly, with drooped 
tail at his heels, he is indistinguishable from his 
unskilled fellow-labourers. 

Happily however, among the Downs, a remnant 
of the past generation still survives, whom the 
present age has been unable to modernize save in 
externals. The greater portion of these men's lives 
has been passed in solitude ; for weeks at a time 
they have been absent from their homes and 
families, sleeping in a tiny cot, which was moved 
from place to place as the requirements of the land 
or the supply of fodder on the ground necessitated 
the presence of sheep. An occasional trip to the 
nearest village for provisions alone broke the 
monotony of their existence during this enforced 
seclusion, when " you med goo fur days wi'out seem 
arra-one to spake to, 'ceptin' 'twur yer pooer dog or 
the ship." As may be supposed, they are for the 
most part a taciturn class, slow of speech, illiterate, 
incredibly ignorant of the world outside their own 
limited circuit. One such hermit of the Downs 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

lately mentioned to his employer the fact that he 
had never been in a train, though he had more than 
once " sin he a-runnin' along." The master, with the 
kindest intentions, not only gave him a holiday but 
supplied the funds for an excursion to a distant 
town. The " shuckettin' an' hollerin' " of the loco- 
motive proved too much for the shepherd's nerves : 
he " wur that frowtened," as he himself expressed 
it, that on the first available opportunity he descended 
to terra Jirma, swearing by all his gods that never 
again would he commit himself to an undertaking 
fraught with such peril as a railway journey. 
Despite their ignorance, these old fellows can upon 
occasion display a shrewd mother-wit. 

"When I wur livin' down in the Vale," said 
one who lived for some years in our village and 
who may be regarded as a typical specimen, " some 
folks attackted ma, an' med game on ma, tryin' to 
put ma in the dark 'cause I wur a shepherd. 
'Shepherds be a pooer lot o' iggerants,' um sez; 
1 they dwun't knavv nothen 'cept 'bout their few 
ship.' 

" ' Have you read your Bible ? " sez I to they, 
' 'cause I have, from Genesis to Revelation, an' I 
can't see as shepherds be sa wunnerful little thought 
on sence the beginnin' o' the worruld. There's Jacob 
an' Moses an' David as wur shepherds: they sims to 
be spoke of ree-speckful anuff in the Bible, by what 
I can mek out. An' ther's one thing I'd like to ax 
'ee. Have you iver yeard tell of a carter or a 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

fogger bein' med a king, like David wur ? ' Bless 
'ee, all them carters and foggers gin up tarrifyin' ma 
fur bein' a shepherd arter that." How the hero 
of this story acquired his Biblical lore was a mystery, 
since he confessed to me that he was " no scholerd — 
childern wurn't fust to 'tend schoold when I wur 
young, like 'urn be now." He came of a race of 
shepherds : in fact it was a tradition in his native 
village that for more than a hundred years one of his 
family had taken part in the shearing on a certain 
farm. Like his father and grandfather before him he 
began to learn his trade at the early age of seven, 
which did not leave much time for the acquisition of 
head knowledge. Tiring of the peaceful monotony 
of the fold, he exchanged his crook for a sword and 
took the Queen's shilling. Within a few years, how- 
ever, he reverted to the occupation of his youth, and 
came home light in pocket— having bought himself 
out at his wife's entreaty— but rich in that valuable 
commodity, experience. Part of his brief period of 
service with the colours, which has conferred dis- 
tinction upon him for the remainder of his life, was 
spent in Ireland, and it was his turn, on finding 
himself once more among his old associates to gibe 
at whilom scoffers as " pooer fullish craturs what 
thinks England be pretty nigh the hull of the 
worruld an' that the Irish be black men!" At 
times he was assailed by poignant regret that he did 
not follow the example of a friend, learn to read and 
write, make the Army his home, and attain finally 

3i7 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

to the dignity of a sergeant with a pension of 
fourteen shillings a week. These pangs of blighted 
ambition became particularly keen throughout the 




THE DEPUTY SHEPHERD. 



lambing season, when he not seldom had to leave his 
bed two and three times during the night — be there 
rain, frost or snow outside, to attend to the yeaning 
ewes. The war in South Africa fired him with 

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TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

renewed martial ardour : he heard " as they Bores 
be comin' over here to pull the Queen off her 
throne an' shut her up in a little island. But 
afoor things got to that, I reckon I should putt on 
my red jackut an' goo out to strike a blow fur she 
— blessed if I 'udn't ! " 

It must be remembered that to shepherds all days 
are alike. Every seven years they complete one of 
working Sundays, and a favourite method of calculat- 
ino- the length of their professional career is by these 
Sabbatical milestones. Seven such is considered 
a creditable record, but I know shepherds who have 
put in eight and even nine years of Sundays. 
Holidays with these workers have been few and far 
between — a day in a decade, perhaps — illnesses even 
rarer. One splendid veteran with clear-cut features, 
a complexion like a polished rosy apple, and eyes 
that seemed to have absorbed something of the sky's 
blueness, who laid aside his crook, not on account of 
any infirmity of age, but because he had had " anuft 
o' messin' about wi' ship," could show a clean bill of 
health throughout his seventy-one years, with the 
exception of a slight attack of rheumatism, brought 
on by sleeping in his cot during a lengthened spell 
of bad weather. The immunity from bodily ills 
enjoyed by this class of farm-servant seems to corro- 
borate the statement, mentioned a few pages ago, 
as to the beneficial effect upon the health which 
the proximity of sheep exercises. If the authority 
of one of their number is to be trusted, shepherds 

3*9 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

come third on the list in respect of longevity, 
notwithstanding the exposure to all weathers which 
they necessarily undergo, and the onerous nature of 
their duties, for, " you've alius got summat on your 
mind: maister leaves every think to you, an' if anythink 
goos wrong, you jest about ketches it," plaintively 
remarked a member of the profession. Sometimes, 
on the contrary, it is the master who " ketches " it, 
as in one case when the man, irritated by what he 
considered unjust criticism of his dog and censure 
on the quality of the lambs — fully aware moreover 
of his own value — pulled his employer from the 
saddle, engaged him in fair fight and drove him 
ignominiously from the fold, the other taking his 
thrashing with meekness from a servant whom he 
dared not dismiss in these days when his equal 
would be difficult to find. 

Here are two anecdotes — I can guarantee their 
genuineness — which give some idea of the ignorance 
and simplicity prevalent among the shepherds of the 
Downs. One such was tending his sheep when he 
was approached by a candidate for the County 
Council who requested the promise of his vote. 

" Vote ? " inquired the man of flocks, removing 
his hat in order to stimulate the flow of his ideas — 
" vote ? what be that, h'wever ? " 

" Don't you take any interest in politics, that you 
don't know what a vote is ? " retorted the other. 
A ray of comprehension pierced the shepherd's 
brain. 

320 



TRAVELS ROUND OUR VILLAGE 

" Oh aye, now I knaws what 'ee be drivin' arter," he 
exclaimed with interest. " So this be a noo kind of 
tick, be 'un ? I knaws the or 'nary sort, but I ha'n't 
niver yeard o' these polly 'uns afoor ! " 

The second incident happened to the father of 
a lady with whom I am well acquainted and who 
related it to me herself. 

A doctor well known in the district, was riding 
over a wild stretch of down, when he came across 
a fold and stopped to exchange a few words with its 
guardian. A couple of questions elicited the fact 
that the latter inhabited a desolate cottage, far 
removed from any other dwelling, and the physician 
further proceeded to inquire how the lonely family 
managed to obtain medical assistance in time of 
illness. 

" Well, sir," replied the shepherd in all good faith, 
" we dwun't ha' no doctor : we just dies a nat'ral 
death ! " 



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